


Sanity

by buttfulmavinness



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Drama, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Self-Harm, Slice of Life, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttfulmavinness/pseuds/buttfulmavinness
Summary: “In those moments I can’t stop. By the time someone tells me to ‘step back and re-evaluate’ I’ve already come to the conclusion that I’m nothing but a nuisance and the only solution is for me to die.”Things in life are complicated for everyone. For some people, their brain makes things even more complicated, often to the point that reality becomes warped.Ikari Shinji, a stereotypical millenial with his warped reality, queer relationships, life lived on student loans and a mind with too many thoughts, decides to give therapy another go after eight years. He's lucky, being able to connect with his new therapist, but therapy sessions don't stop the onslaught of shit life has in store.





	1. A False Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I realised "hey, actually, I relate to Shinji a lot more than I first thought", and began using fanfiction as a form of therapy.

Shinji starts counselling. No, Shinji tries counselling. No, even that doesn’t sound right. Shinji goes to counselling. Yeah, he goes there. It’s all very spur of the moment. He expects… something. That something would change. He goes there to experience something.

“Your name and banner ID, please.”

“Ikari Shinji. B00XXXXXX.”

“I see it’s your first time using the school’s counselling services. Well then. What can I do for you today?”

“I…” he stares at the man in front of him. He seems friendly enough, but there’s just something. Something’s off about him. This doesn’t feel right. But he can’t get better if he doesn’t take some risks. “I felt like I needed to talk with someone. I’ve struggled with…” He swallows. He hates this word. “With bullying before, and I feel like it hasn’t really left me, and is still affecting me.”

The counsellor’s face turns stern.

“That is very unfortunate. I assure you that we take all cases of bullying very seriously in our school and hope to help anyone who is struggling with these experiences.”

Shinji shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Panic is starting to settle into his ribcage.

“Ah, no. It’s… Nothing here has happened. It was at my previous school…”

A silence falls, and the stern face softens. The counsellor hums. “If these issues are within the jurisdiction of another school, I’m afraid we cannot do much here.”

Shinji freezes. What exactly happened here?

“Huh?”

“We can only deal with conflicts that happen inside our school. However, if you’re experiencing any other problems, we will do our best to help you.”

Shinji does his best to unfreeze himself. He smiles weakly at the counsellor. “Yeah.”

Shinji doesn’t go to counselling after that.

 

It’s several months later that Shinji is at the family doctor, getting the yearly check-up on his health. The doctor is asking about his eating habits, which Shinji assures are decent enough. He’s eating his greens and drinking things other than soda. The doctor asks him about his sleeping habits, which Shinji confesses have not been the greatest. He falls asleep late and sleeps in more often than he should. He hasn’t had the time nor energy for exercise either. The doctor is wrapping up.

“Well, there seems to be nothing much that has changed, although I would suggest you try to at least take a walk two or three times a week outside of your commute. Even just twenty minutes is fine. That might be able to help you with upkeeping a proper circadian rhythm. Do you have any questions you’d like to ask? Or something you think would be worth mentioning?”

It’s the latter question that makes Shinji stop, and on a whim lift his sleeve just the tiniest bit. His voice is wavering when he asks:

“Is there some help for this?”

The doctor blinks, nods and writes him a referral to a psychiatrist.

Shinji wonders how this was so hard for the counsellor to do. It’s literally one email and a slip of paper in Shinji’s hand.

 

It eats away at him at night. He lies in bed, trying to mute the world around him with his headphones. Music is a more pleasant noise.

“I’m afraid we cannot do much here.”

Someone listening to him would’ve been nice.

He switches sides.

"I’m afraid we cannot do much here.”

Or if they didn’t have the resources to have someone listen to him talk about his life then...

He stares at the wall, feeling empty and burning at the same time.

“We cannot do much.”

A referral was too much.

“Cannot do much.”

A fucking referral.

The counsellors face melts into a rotting corpse. It’s what he deserves.

“I’m afraid we cannot do much here.”

Shinji has spent the better half of a year expecting that he will snap and run the kitchen knife into his throat on some sunny day.

But sure.

If he’s experiencing any problems the school will help him.

 

In the morning his whole world is upside down again.

“What if I didn’t actually do enough to let them know? What if this is all my fault? I got too caught up in social courtesy that I couldn’t voice my needs? So it’s basically my fault. I could’ve done something about wanting to die for the past 6 months. I just never realised because I’m too much of a coward to say anything. It’s even a wonder I said anything to the doctor. I’m a useless human being. I don’t even have basic survival instinct. I have reflexes sure, I’ll pull my hand out the fire before I even realise. But who’s to say I won’t just put my hand right back in. Hell, put the whole arm. I’d think I’m so cool, burning myself alive. Never mind, I couldn’t do that. I fear pain too much. I’d sleeping pill my way out of this life like a wuss.”

He stares at the ceiling and the dust particles floating in daylight. His first appointment is next week. Is he going to last that long?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda thinking of writing and updating this as it comes to me, after the real therapy starts. Good news is: I tend to analyse my past and behaviour and trauma Often. Which means more to write about.


	2. Youth Mental Health Clinic

Surprising himself yet again, Shinji does last that long. He’s sent to the youth department, and stepping into the waiting room, he can immediately tell. He’s early, and the crayons and crappy paper are alluring.

A woman in her sixties calls him in. She has a very… therapist vibe to her. He follows her to a room, sits on an armchair, and looks around. It’s an office. The green walls give him at least a little bit of comfort. It doesn’t feel too cramped. The coffee table between them has tissues. He wonders how many of the customers actually use them. He wonders what they’re telling her when they use them. He wonders if he is going to use them.

“I understand it was you family doctor who referred you?”

Shinji nods.

They go over basic questions.

“If you would fill this in for me please.”

She hands him a questionnaire. Looking at it, it’s clearly meant to discern the level of his mental wellbeing. He tries to answer the questions. Sometimes, the X’s that are supposed to go on one of the five points between Strongly Agree’s and Strongly Disagree’s don’t feel quite right, and he opts for in between. He hopes she doesn’t mind.

Some questions jump out more than others. Like the one about how often in the last two weeks he’s thought about killing himself. Or the one about how clear his plans are on killing himself. Looking at the options, he realises he’s not that high. Surely something that will eat away at him at a later point in his life. He’s not a priority case.

He finishes and hands it back over to her.

“How many hours do you usually sleep during a weeknight?”

“Maybe.. Four to six hours? Sometimes less.”

“And during weekends?”

“Easily over 12 hours. I think I hold my record at 16 hours,” Shinji says with a dry laugh.

“And your eating habits?”

“Most days I skip lunch completely. Then I stuff myself during the evening. I hide food in my room, so my dad doesn’t comment on eating too much junk food.” He can hear the echo of ‘fat fuck’ between his ears. He shakes his head to get rid of the memory.

She asks a question relating to some of his answers. “What exactly do you mean when you leave the X between the choices?”

“Like… I’m not… For example, a lot of times I don’t have the energy to get out of bed. But I just… force myself?” He doesn’t know how to explain. It sounds too normal. Something everyone does on a Monday morning. But it doesn’t feel normal. I doesn’t feel normal when he does it.

His therapist nods. There are still some answers he wishes she would ask about, but she doesn’t. He doesn’t bring them up on his own.

“It does seem like you are suffering from a moderate depression and a general anxiety disorder, as well as some sleeping problems. Next week we’re going to have the meeting with the psychiatrist so we can discuss medication and the plan for your therapy. I’d also like to have a meeting with your parents, as you are still a minor.”

Shinji winces inside, but nods. Hearing about his preliminary diagnosis is… good. Predictable. Medication and therapy spark hope. Meeting with his dad… fear. Panic. Discomfort.

He tells himself it’s going to be worth it. He’s going to get through this.

 

Next time, Shinji brings his father with him, as he was instructed.

The psychiatrist and his therapist introduce themselves to him, while Shinji sits quietly on the sofa. They discuss the basics of what has lead them to the situation at hand and what future may hold. Shinji just wants to go home.

The psychiatrist hands him another test. Shinji stares at it, feeling his father’s burning gaze at the back of his skull. He takes a pen and begins to fill it.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I do not feel sad


  * I feel sad


  * I am sad all the time and I can't snap out of it


  * I am so sad and unhappy that I can't stand it



Shinji picks the last one.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I am not particularly discouraged about the future


  * I feel discouraged about the future


  * I feel I have nothing to look forward to


  * I feel the future is hopeless and that things cannot improve



Shinji picks the last one.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I do not feel like a failure


  * I feel I have failed more than the average person


  * As I look back on my life, all I can see is a lot of failures


  * I feel I am a complete failure as a person



Shinji picks the last one. He almost lets out a chuckle.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I get as much satisfaction out of things as I used to


  * I don't enjoy things the way I used to


  * I don't get real satisfaction out of anything anymore


  * I am dissatisfied or bored with everything



Shinji picks the second last one.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I don't feel particularly guilty


  * I feel guilty a good part of the time


  * I feel quite guilty most of the time


  * I feel guilty all of the time



The answers make him frown. Does he feel guilty? Maybe a little. He picks the second answer.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I don't feel I am being punished


  * I feel I may be punished


  * I expect to be punished


  * I feel I am being punished



I’m being punished right now by having to be here, he thinks, but picks the second last one.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I don't feel disappointed in myself


  * I am disappointed in myself


  * I am disgusted with myself


  * I hate myself



Shinji picks the last one. Thanks dad, he thinks as he glances at his father. His father is watching him intently, with the same blank face. Shinji immediately turns back to the paper, his self-hatred flaring up.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I don't feel I am any worse than anybody else


  * I am critical of myself for my weaknesses or mistakes


  * I blame myself all the time for my faults


  * I blame myself for everything bad that happens



Oh man, this is not going to look good. He picks the last one.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I don't have any thoughts of killing myself


  * I have thoughts of killing myself, but I would not carry them out


  * I would like to kill myself


  * I would kill myself if I had the chance



The question makes him pause. His whole body feels frozen in terror.

He can’t pick the right answer. He can’t. _He can’t_.

Biting his tongue, he circles the first answer. A disgusting lie. He’s a coward.

But he’d rather be a coward than tell his father.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I don't cry any more than usual


  * I cry more now than I used to


  * I cry all the time now


  * I used to be able to cry, but now I can't cry even though I want to



He picks the first one. At least not according to his father. He’s always been a crybaby. A weakling. Nothing has changed in the past 15 years.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I am no more irritated by things than I ever was


  * I am slightly more irritated now than usual


  * I am quite annoyed or irritated a good deal of the time


  * I feel irritated all the time



He picks the third option. If it’s not irritation with an odd moment of joy, he feels numb.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I have not lost interest in other people


  * I am less interested in other people than I used to be


  * I have lost most of my interest in other people


  * I have lost all of my interest in other people



Last answer again. Not that the interest was there in the beginning. Probably. He can’t remember, to be fair.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I make decisions about as well as I ever could


  * I put off making decisions more than I used to


  * I have greater difficulty in making decisions more than I used to


  * I can't make decisions at all anymore



He picks the first one. At least one thing is going right in his life.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I don't feel that I look any worse than I used to


  * I am worried that I am looking old or unattractive


  * I feel there are permanent changes in my appearance that make me look unattractive


  * I believe that I look ugly



He cringes. Another lie, as he circles the first one. He will not discuss his body-image issues with his father.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I can work about as well as before.


  * It takes an extra effort to get started at doing something


  * I have to push myself very hard to do anything


  * I can't do any work at all



Third option. He had to push himself very hard to even come here.

The rest of the questions are very similar to those ones in the other questionnaire. Basics about his eating, sleeping and energy-levels.

The last question nearly has him making some indignant squealing sound.

  1. Which describes you best?


  * I have not noticed any recent change in my interest in sex


  * I am less interested in sex than I used to be


  * I have almost no interest in sex


  * I have lost interest in sex completely



He quickly circles the last one and pushed the paper to the psychiatrist’s end of the table.

He can’t even bring himself to look anyone in the eye.

The discussion revolves around the confirmation of Shinji’s diagnosis, possible medications and therapy schedule recommendations. Shinji’s father has stayed mostly quiet throughout the conversation, nodding or grunting short answers to the questions presented by the psychiatrist or therapist.

The psychiatrist finishes looking through Shinji’s answers before she turns back towards Shinji. “I noticed you haven’t reported any intentions of suicide, but I have to ask whether or not you’ve had or have any intentions or urges of harming yourself by other means?”

Her eyes are kind, and Shinji’s sure she doesn’t mean anything by it, but he really, _really_ wishes they had asked him to fill this questionnaire when his father wasn’t sitting right next to him.

His smile is wobbly. “No. Not at all.”

He wishes he didn’t have to lie.

 

The third time, Shinji brings a book.

He’s too caught up to notice that the appointment officially had started ten minutes ago. When he raises his head, panic rises with it.

Why has no one come get him yet?

Maybe he has the wrong date? Wrong time? Was he supposed to be earlier than this? Have the clocks been turned? Is he even in the right place? Did someone call out to him, but he didn’t notice? And now it’s too late because no one will come get him and he will have to wait until next week- no they’ll write him out of the system because he failed to make an appointment-

He breathes in slowly. He breathes out even slower.

He will wait for ten more minutes or he will go ask someone at the reception.

But what if _he’s at the wrong place or at the wrong time-_

Nothing he can do about it.

_But what if he’s been an huge inconvenience to the therapist or-_

The therapist’s door opens, and a familiar face peeks out.

“Come on inside. We have the psychiatrist today with us today.”

Shinji’s thoughts evaporate into the air, but the clenching of his muscles doesn’t disappear until long into the session.

The psychiatrist introduces herself, and they shake hands. They go over the basics of Shinji’s diagnosis so far, and what kind of medications are available.

“Right, so we are going to put you on fluoxetine, and just start with 20 mils. We can work up from that if you feel like the dose is not enough. You won’t notice any changes immediately, it may even take up to a month for the effects to show, so it’s really important you don’t stop taking it even if you don’t feel like it’s working. If you get really bad side-effects, we will figure out something to substitute it with.

Now fluoxetine is supposed to treat both the depression and anxiety. I believe you said something about having trouble sleeping?” Shinji nods at the question. ”I’ll give you a prescription for some melatonin as well. Start with 1 mil to see if it works, and if it doesn’t max 3 mils for now.”

Shinji nods again. He wonders if he’s going to remember any of it, but there will surely be instructions on the packaging. He can check that later.

The meeting time is eaten up by prescription talk. The late beginning certainly doesn’t help. Shinji barely has the time to talk about anything of substance.

He steps out of the psychiatrist’s office, still eaten up by the words he had exchanged with his father just the day before.

He won’t remember next time. He already knows. There’ll probably be something new he will need to talk about.

 

The therapist doesn’t really ask anything. She just lets him rant. He complains about school, his family. They even lightly touch upon the previous bullying in school, but with no deeper questions, his will to deeply analyse his trauma vocally dies.

One thing she asks about is the effectiveness of his medication. He shrugs, says it hasn’t done much that he can notice.

The dose gets increased.

He continues to rant throughout the year. Same topics: school, family, the few friends he has.

She asks about the effectiveness of medication again. He thinks there’s been a positive effect.

She suggests aiming to end his need for medication and therapy.

Shinji is in panic but says nothing. He just rants about school, family and friends.

His medication is cut in half during the spring. He’s always felt better during the spring.

His therapy sessions are only once in two weeks. There’s not enough time to cover all the topics of school, family and friends.

By the end of the summer, he no longer takes any medication nor does he go to therapy.

 

His third year in high school is a vague blur, what with the transfer of schools. He wasn’t good enough to last in the higher demanding high school. Passing with 0.05 points above the limit meant he should’ve improved, but he never did.


	3. Reconstruction of Self

Shinji applies for universities abroad. One by one they reject him, until only one is pending, and the date for applying to local universities is coming closer. The entrance exam material is insane, and he knows he won’t get in on his first try. Nevertheless, he applies for a few courses. At least he then applies for unemployment benefits.

A few hours later, whilst drowning in ever increasing panic of not being able to find one of the exam books, an email arrives. It’s from the last abroad university he applied for.

He clicks on it.

‘Accepted.’

He feels… nothing really. He leaves his room, and finds his father in the kitchen.

“I got accepted.”

“Where?”

“To the one that was left.”

His father looks at him, and as usual, Shinji cannot tell what he’s thinking.

“Well done,” his father says, as if he had just said that it started to rain again.

Shinji nods and goes back to his room. He lies in bed, three words playing in his head, over and over.

 

His father, by some miracle, agrees to come with him when he moves. It helps, not having to forcibly down his entire life into one suitcase. His father agrees to having Shinji fill the rest of his things in with his. And even his presence is somewhat of a comfort. Shinji’s sure his father wouldn’t leave him _completely_ stranded in a foreign country, at least not until he has ensured his accommodation and a mobile network contract. It’s the little things. Bare minimum of things.

Shinji settles into his flat at the student accommodation, struggles to get a phone contract so he can get a bank account so he can finally stop carrying scarily large sums of money around. It all works out in the end, and by the third day he says bye to his father.

A nod, a wave of Shinji’s hand, and his father’s taxi speeds off to the airport. To think they hadn’t even fought once in those three days.

Shinji isn’t sure if he feels is actual longing for home, or more of a guilt that he doesn’t.

 

Shinji meets Rei after three days of occupying the same kitchen space. He had begun to think he has imagined her on her first day, but she is real after all. She’s quiet, barely takes up any space.

He learns that she isn’t actually foreigner like himself, but had lived in the same country, but in another city for her whole life.

“So what brought you to this uni?” Shinji asks.

She shrugs, and her face remains expressionless. It’s sort of unsettling… but also familiar. “Bad grades.”

Shinji winces, but pushes aside the embarrassment and guilt. “Same.”

Rei blinks and gives a very small and very slowly formed smile.

Other people begin to fill the halls. Shinji doesn’t think he’s met a local - besides Rei - only foreigners like himself, and he’s met more people from different countries than he has ever been to. It’s clear that the Big Five of Europe are in the majority, but he’s met at least one person from every continent. Almost. He has yet to meet someone from the Antarctica, but at this rate - a hundred people per week - that goal will be met soon.

He’s barely settled in when classes start. He’s so excited. He’s not even sure what to expect.

He deflates like a sad balloon when the realisation of nothing having changed settles in. Well one thing has changed: the class has much more people than the average high school class. But that doesn’t really affect anything.

He tries so hard to listen to the teacher talk about the origins of psychology, but it’s so… _basic._

Tabula rasa, my ass, he thinks. There are no blank slates. Not for babies and not for me.

 

It’s Halloween, and Shinji is freaking out. As a last resort, he buys a pig mask, which feels oddly comforting, and heads out with Rei and the rest of the kitchen squad. They merge with other groups, and suddenly there’s maybe thirty of them. It’s a vibrant high, belonging in a crowd, and he laughs at the antics of the French guys who try to climb a statue, dressed in spandex.

Rei seems to be having fun too, although she is getting red in the face from more than just laughing. Shinji wonders if he’s suffering from the same flush, and judging by how good the cold breeze feels on his face, he is.

The student union rips them off, but none of them do more than complain, words slurred but loud.

The floor is more packed than he’s ever seen it. He gets immediately dragged into the dancing crowd, and he wouldn’t dream of trying to get away. He doesn’t know what it is about dancing to crappy club music in a massive crowd, but he truly loves it.

He doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t have to speak.

There’s even a cute girl who dances with him for a while, although he thinks he sees who he thinks is her boyfriend standing a few meters away. Rather than feel disappointed, he feels sad for the guy. To be unable to enjoy this high is the worst fate his drunken mind can think of.

Eventually his stamina drains and he has to wade through the crowd to outside.

“Shinjiiiiii!” shouts a slurred voice, and Boris drapes himself over Shinji. He feels crushed underneath the weight put simply pats the man on the shoulder.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s up? Drinks! I’m so fucking drunk. I think I downed a whole bottle of vodka on the way here…” Boris attempts to brag and sways on his feet. Shinji is sobering up, fast, and notices how truly _wasted_ Boris is. A little behind him, Shinji can see the security eyeing the two of them suspiciously. He really hopes if Boris is kicked out, he isn’t kicked out with him.

“Maybe you should take it easy for a moment,” Shinji suggests.

Boris snorts. “Are you trying to do a posh accent?”

Shinji lifts a brow. “But of course, darling.”

Boris shakes his head. “You can’t do a better accent than me.”

Shinji rolls his eyes. Of course he can’t. He’s not even English. Unlike some drunken ginger man leaning on him for support. Such a fair comparison.

“I’m heading back inside.”

“Right, I’ll stay here and try to bum a fag.”

Shinji waves at Boris and heads back. He takes a detour to the bathroom, where a line has already formed, and settles in place to wait.

“Hey.”

Shinji turns towards the voice, not sure if it’s meant for him or not. A redheaded girl is looking at him, so perhaps it was.

“Do you do Psych?” she asks. Shinji nods, and she smiles. “I knew it! I recognised you from the lectures.”

Shinji still feels a little hazy, but that statement is absurd. “You… recognised me from the lectures? Amongst like a hundred other people?”

She shrugs. “Good face memory? Anyway I’m Asuka! My family’s from Japan but I’m from Germany.” She offers a hand.

“Ikari Shinji,” he says, taking the hand. “Lived my whole life in Japan.”

“Cool! There’s actually quite a few of you here. I can introduce you to my friends, they’re also Japanese.”

He nods.

A few minutes later, he’s standing back outside, introducing himself to people left and right again. He’s gotten quite adept at it at this point. He’s talking to Makinami Mari, who seems to be the only one who has actually spent a significant amount of her life in Japan. They’re comparing their lives to how it was before.

“And when they don’t actually take their shoes off… I thought that was just in the movies?! There’s carpet! All over! Take your freaking shoes off people!!” Shinji cries out, and Mari clutches heart while nodding.

“Exactly! Preach it!”

Someone cracks a joke at the other side of the group, and half the people burst into laughter.

“And have you seen the guys here dancing?” Mari asks him and the others listening with half an ear to their conversation.

“No?” Shinji really hasn’t paid attention to other people’s dancing.

“Wait, wait, they do it like this,” Mari says, lifting one hand in a fist slightly above her head. Then she screws her eyes shut and pouts her lips. Then, she begins to move her hand in a rhythmic back and forth motion.

Shinji’s hit by sudden feeling of having seen it before. Yes, in the background, though he hadn’t paid attention to it before.

“That is… so accurate it hurts,” Asuka cries, dabbing the tears from her eyes. Shinji can’t help but face her and lift his hand up, catching up to Mari in the movement. Asuka laughs so hard she begins to hiccup. Then she vomits on the ground, eyes wide with surprise.

“Ew!”

“Gro-ho-hoss!”

 

Shinji doesn’t know what he expected once he returned home for the winter break. A lot of people had said the relationship with their parents changed.

Nothing had changed with his father.

Maybe it is because they don’t have a relationship in the first place.

It takes three days for things to be the same shit as always, of them ignoring each others existence. His father asks him about his grades. Asks if he is going to apply for a part-time job. Asks if he is doing any extracurricular activities to boost his CV.

After those questions, topics of discussion end.

Shinji meets up with some of his childhood friends, exchange stories of their lives, finds out one of them is getting married, and congratulates him with a sense of dread.

The rest of the break is spent in a daze. It feels pleasant enough. He even manages to drag his old cello from the back of the wardrobe and play a few songs.

Before long, the time has slipped by, with nothing really having changed in his life. Shinji packs his bags and leaves for the airport again, suitcase filled with snacks not available where he now lives. He ends up paying a pretty penny when the airport staff inform him his luggage weighs too much. But honestly, it’s worth it.

 

First year has been… okay, so far. He has made friends. He shares the course with Asuka, so he sees her multiple times a week. Student accommodation means he meets Rei almost daily. Sometimes, when he goes over to Asuka’s he meets Mari. So it’s not like he’s lonely.

At least that’s what he tells himself. He tells it to himself daily, and the months go by. It’s all fine.

Until he’s the last one of his friends still in the country, and his birthday comes. He sees no one on that day. He tells himself it’s okay. He needs to pack anyway, to go back to Japan. He avoids people asking what he did for his birthday, because eating pizza and watching YouTube is too pathetic to disclose.

When summer vacation begins, he has already finished moving to the shared apartment with Katsuragi Misato. He was glad to be able to share a household with someone who had similar cultural background. Asuka had moved in with Mari, Hikari and one of Asuka’s student accommodation flatmates, whose name Shinji can’t remember.

Misato was older than Shinji and worked at the embassy, and she had warned him she wouldn’t be home very often. He doesn’t mind that at all, preferring to have plenty of alone time. Of course, that’d have to wait for him to come back from Japan first.

The summer goes much like the winter, although with much more jabs from his father for his uselessness. He hadn’t managed to get a summer job, and his father is not close to letting him forget that.

He sleeps the days away, spending his nights reading, playing cello and watching more game streams than is healthy. Towards the end of the vacation he picks up the habit of photographing the route he walks, whenever he escapes his father’s disapproving gaze.

He’s nothing great, but from hundreds of pictures, some turn out just fine. That’s enough for him.

 

“My anxiety eats away at me. Literally. I think I’m getting an ulcer.” Shinji is lying on Asuka’s sofa. Or Asuka’s flat’s sofa. Whichever.

“Mmhmm.”

The topic is nothing new. For all the excitement he had had when he finally got out of the hellhole of a student accommodation, he’s found himself dropped into another.

His first place of residence had had it’s fair share of problems: destroyed pans and pots, stolen knives, yelling and running in the hallways at ungodly hours, people stealing food or letting it rot in the fridges. Several fire alarms, one which he had experienced while in the _shower_. (It’s not nearly as fun as one would imagine.) No WiFi for the first three months. Shinji could go on and on for hours and still not be done. His nerves are not the same nor is his relationship with French people.

“She’s killing me slowly, and I have no way to stop it.”

“Or if you push her enough, she’ll throw plates at you,” Asuka jokes.

Shinji snorts. “If only.”

Katsuragi Misato, who he has now known for the better of three months is an absolute monster in human disguise. Well… maybe not a monster, but at least a minor demon.

Shinji had tried to fight against it at first. He had reminded her to wash her dishes, pay for electricity and clean her hair from the bathtub, but had quickly learned that she did not take kindly to constant explicit reminders. He had tried to switch to a more… subtle technique. Piling her dishes to the side, gather her hair in neat little lumps beside the bathtub, letting the electricity run on, until it ultimately lead to their electricity to be cut off.

Nothing worked.

“She wants me to pay for the electricity on my own for the winter.”

“What?” Asuka looks over her shoulder. She’s cooking them dinner, and letting Shinji unburden himself from his troubles.

“Well not all of it. She’s willing to pay for 20 bucks a month. ‘Cus “That’s what I paid during the summer and I’m not using the heating anyway”. Bitch doesn’t even live next to the bathroom, and I have to have my heating on just to keep the windows free of moisture. This morning it was what- 8 or 9 degrees in our kitchen? A little better in my room: 13 degrees. If I get rheumatism, you will know why.”

Asuka shakes her head. “She’s crazy.”

Shinji nods. He doesn’t like calling people crazy but there’s just no other way to describe the woman. “So yeah. Right now it’s about 70 bucks straight out of my pocket. And it’s only going to get better when we hit the minus.”

“My room has a crack underneath the door that keeps pulling in the cold air from the kitchen. I’ll be joining you with the rheumatism soon enough. What is with this country and it’s insulation?” Asuka sighs. She piles her cooking onto plates. “Food’s ready.”

 

There’s a volunteering opportunity through his university course. Asuka is the one who makes him actually aware of it in the first place. They both apply for it, huddled together over their laptops in the university library. There’s a buzz of excitement. The thought of a foreign land, people he’s never met before, language he doesn’t speak. It’s a scary, but good feeling.

 

At the end of his second year, Shinji moves out quietly, only notifying the agent of the flat he has shared for a year with Misato. Hikari and the other girl, Kaori, as Shinji has learned, are going on an exchange year. Mari is moving back into the student accommodation, claiming that she misses the hustling and bustling and meeting a hundred new people in a month. This leaves Asuka and Shinji partner up for the apartment. It had taken them several months, and after many “unfortunately the offer is no longer valid”s, they found what was perfection, on their standards, and the agent had been more than happy to take the fee to pull the apartment off the market.

For the first time, Shinji truly feels at home.

 

In the end, Asuka doesn’t go through with the volunteering process.

“I don’t know. They never called me back and…” Asuka shrugs. “But I hope you have fun!”

Shinji knows she’ll spend her summer working. And in his own way, he will be too.

“I’ll send you lots of pictures!”

 

A blisteringly hot July. Twelve people who have spent time by the pool and in conference rooms. A language none of them speak, but words that are repeated daily, with no care for grammar or accent. One of them loses their new passport, the day is filled with panic, but ends in laughter. Friends he feels he’s known a lifetime are gathered around him.

They all promise to keep in contact, but Shinji knows they won’t. But he’s fine with that.

The memories are precious as they are.


	4. Who Are You?

When the second half of the third year begins, Shinji’s so excited for the new course content. The lectures seem much more interesting than before, and he’s determined to do a better job in making notes and preparing for the exams. He has  _ plans _ .

With the vigour of New Year, he sets his laptop before him, with the contents of the lecture’ PowerPoint, ready to clarify the ambiguous notations as soon as the lecturer opens their mouth. 

“Sorry, is it okay if I sit here?”

Shinji looks up. He doesn’t recognise the guy at all. And for him to even ask if he can sit there in the first place… Usually people just sit without asking. 

“Uh. Yeah,” Shinji mutters and turns back to his laptop. He knows the smile he had been flashed is going to haunt him for the next few months. 

He can see the stranger sit next to him from the corner of his eye. 

 

The teacher is shaking his head. “It’s not possible to do the necessary work on Excel. Or it’s going to be a lot more difficult to do it.”

“I see,” Shinji’s neighbour says. “How can I get the necessary programme then?”

“Oh, you can get it from the IT people in the library onto a memory stick,” Shinji interjects.

“Thank you.”

“Are you an exchange student or something..?” Shinji asks. It’s not possible for one of the students who have been there since the beginning of the year not to know about SPSS.

The guy looks back at him with sudden warmth. “Yes. I’m supposed to be on exchange but I’m trying to transfer here completely.”

“Oh! Where are you from then?”

“Japan.”

“Oh!” Shinji feels… shocked to say the least. The guy doesn’t look like it at all. But he manages to push the thought to the back of his mind quick enough. It takes a little push to switch back to his native tongue, but it also gives him comfort. “What a coincidence.”

The guy’s eyes widen and he smiles. 

“Ikari Shinji,” Shinji introduces himself. 

“Nagisa Kaworu,” the guy says back.

“Do you want me to show you where to find the IT department, Nagisa-kun?” Shinji asks, just a little desperate to prolong the interaction.

“You can call me just Kaworu. And yes, please, if that isn’t too much to ask, Ikari-kun.”

“Ah, then you should do the same… Kaworu-kun.”

 

Mari begs Asuka and Shinji to join one of the parties at the student accommodation.

“It’s like we never see anymore. You two have become like two retirees,” she reasons.

Shinji thinks back to how he went out to socialise a handful of times last year. He knows Mari has a point. And even if he isn’t big on large crowds, he does miss the buzz of introductions being thrown around from left right and centre. It’s still early in the year, and they have no deadlines coming up.

He looks at Asuka who is clearly going through the same thought process. 

“Okay,” he sighs. “We’ll be there.”

 

There’s a certain threshold all parties have, where at a certain point the general population decides that trying to keep up a large group conversation has become too hard. Shinji dreads that moment. It’s a gamble. If he’s not seated correctly, he’ll be stuck in a corner in an awkward conversation that may have taken to a topic he doesn’t particularly know or care about. He will feel like he’s occupying space he shouldn’t be and people who actually want to participate in the conversation have to yell over him. Or even worse, people ignore him completely and switch to their own native language. It’s happened before. He had sat in the student accommodation kitchen for half an hour quietly eating his food, while three French girls had blabbered on in French. One of them had made a valiant effort to keep the conversation going in English, but eventually gave up.

The whole ordeal had culminated to one of the others to ask him: “Why are you so quiet?”

How could he answer that? He doesn’t speak French.

He sticks to Mari and Asuka for the most of the night, downing cranberry vodka like water. Either he manages to keep himself attached to them enough or he’ll be too drunk to care. Or both. So far, Shinji has managed both.

He’s mixing another shot of bad and cheap cranberry juice with an even worse and cheaper shot of vodka. They counterbalance each other out. As he turns around he almost spills his magic potion down a cream-coloured sweater and barely manages to right himself in time.

“Fuck me,” he says and blinks. That had been close. He looks up and recognises the face immediately. “Oh it’s you.”

Kaworu flashes him a smile. Shinji sure picked his words right.

“We meet again, Shinji-kun.”

“Must be fate or something,” Shinji jokes and sips the drink, eyeing somewhere past Kaworu’s shoulder. He sees Mari, Asuka and one of Mari’s flatmates all leaving the room giggling at something.

“Fate indeed,” Kaworu says in a semi-serious way. Shinji has a feeling that Kaworu has a sense for the dramatic.

“So did you get SPSS to work on your computer?” Shinji asks, heart sinking at his lack of smalltalk skills, but it’s better than nothing. It’s better than it used to be.

Kaworu brightens up and nods. “Yes, thank you. You were such a big help. I was wondering if there’s anyway I can repay you?”

Shinji feels his eyes bulging, his heart stops, the world spins, there’s so much noise that he must’ve heard wrong but it’s completely silent except for the hum in his ears.

His voice is desperately strained, like someone had just choked him with their bare hands. “I- sure… I mean… Uh. Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t that big of a deal… I mean, I don’t mind but…”

He doesn’t want to be too eager, but he  _ is _ too eager, and his heart is beating, and he feels so hot, and maybe a little nauseous? But he hasn’t thrown up before, he should be fine, he hasn’t even drunk a third of the vodka he’s brought with him, but he should probably down all of it in one go to calm his beating heart, just in case.

“Do you have Facebook or something?” he struggles out. Kaworu frowns and leans closer. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Shinji swallows and leans forward. He tries again. “Facebook! Do you have Facebook? Or… something…”

He hopes Kaworu does. He hates exchanging numbers. It means the person might call him. And by all things holy, he’d rather die than talk on the phone. Well, he’d rather die than a lot of things, but talking on the phone was really up there.

Kaworu nods and smiles, taking out his phone. He passes it to Shinji, already having opened the app. Shinji types in his name, and sends himself a friend request. He would accept it immediately, but his phone had died an hour ago.

Somewhere in the process of giving Kaworu his phone back, Shinji realises how  _ close _ he is. Like really close. He can kind of smell his breath. And see the dry skin of his lips. Shinji could just… lean in and… he really could just kiss him right there. But that’d be weird. Wouldn’t it be? But it could be so good. He hasn’t kissed in ages. Maybe this time it could be good, and not someone’s teeth reaching his nose. Or general slobbering over his face. 

Shinji looks down at his drink. He is so desperately aroused it’s pathetic.

By some god’s mercy or mischief, someone on the other end of the room yells Kaworu’s name. Shinji looks up with Kaworu in the direction of the shouter. 

“Aah, you’re being missed.”

“It seems our time is been brief. Until we meet again.” Kaworu pats Shinji on the shoulder, the touch lingering. Their eyes meet one last time, and Shinji believes in romance so hard at that moment. The heartache is real. Kaworu’s hand slides over his arm, and suddenly Shinji’s left alone again.

He doesn’t want to remain alone and look pathetic. He leaves the room in search of Asuka and Mari, hoping they’ll allow him to socially leech off of them.

He finds them in one of the flat’s bedrooms, debating whether Lord of the Rings is a story of love and friendship, or if it was about war. To Shinji it didn’t matter that much, he was too stuck in his own head and his own love story, which had taken a severe timeskip into the future, where he has a husband and kids and a house and maybe even a cat or two. 

The party trickles down to a soft hum, as people become tired and leave for their beds, or in Shinji’s case, Mari’s bed. He accidentally-  _ accidentally! _ \- throws up on Mari’s carpeted floor. He tries to hard to clean it up, but the drunkenness doesn’t help, and he’s left lying on her bed exhausted and more nauseous than ever.

 

The next morning, or the same, however one counts it, he wakes up several times. Each time he throws up a little more. He finds the red plastic party cups surprisingly convenient. What comes out fits right back into those things. He’s eternally grateful, because it means he doesn’t actually have to rush into the bathroom, or better yet, wait for one of the other six people to come out from the single bathroom in the whole place.

On one of his water-fetching and vomit cup emptying trips, he finds his phone and charger, and plugs them in. 

The seventh time he wakes up from his pathetic attempt of sleeping through his hangover, Shinji sees the friend request and blushes.

He had completely forgotten.

He clicks ‘Accept’.

Then he pukes.

 

It’s a couple of weeks into the new year, when the letter from the mental health care centre drops in. Asuka’s the one who collected the mail from the floor, but if she’s read where the letter is from, she doesn’t say it. Shinji’s thankful, but feels a little awkward.

He opens the letter in his room, comforted by the privacy, and reads with increasing relief that the process has gone through. He is to meet with a therapist in three weeks. He’s sure he can wait that long. 

 

Except when the year’s first coursework results come in.

“60%? 60%! Who the hell was grading these? Can you believe this? 60%! Look, look at these comments. ‘Clearly state where this research is coming from.’ It’s right there two lines later! I can’t believe this. This is bullshit. Aren’t you angry?”

Shinji feels numb. “Not really.”

“But this is absurd! What did you even get for the assignment?”

He hates that question.

“52%.”

“Don’t you feel angry?”

“No.” Why would he? He put no effort into it. Barely made it in time to submit it. He’s got nothing higher than 56% in his third year so far. 

“I need grades above 75% if I’m going to get a first level degree. I can’t believe they fucked me over like this. I’m going to email them and ask for a meeting with whoever graded this.”

Shinji hums without any feeling.

 

Later that night, many hours after the exchange, he’s lying in bed. 

52 percent. At this rate he won’t be able to graduate with high enough grades. Not if he wants to do a postgraduate. He needs an average of 65%. Nine subjects out of twelve, and three he has already messed up in.

He’s never truly worried about his future before. He’s always had a vague sense of making it. But now it’s… 

“Stupid idiot…” he whispers to himself.

He has no one to blame but himself.

 

Shinji talks with Kaworu mostly online. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, they exchange a few words after classes before getting dragged away by responsibilities or friends. 

They still haven’t found time for their… date? Was it a date? A friend-date? Or maybe a proper date? Shinji is confused and tries his best not to think about it. His head would explode otherwise.

Kaworu had suggested getting dinner two weeks ago, but Shinji had to be stupid last term and sign up for the Student Assistant Research programme and get tied up into doing his own study. On his own. With no help. in his third year. He hasn’t even passed the ethics yet, but it was already a massive hassle.

Shinji feels bad for the indefinite postponement he has pulled on their maybe-date, but he has no time. The university is piling one thing after another on him. First the StAR project, then the coursework, and now the dissertation proposals. 

“I have no idea what the  _ fuck _ I’m doing.”

None of them seem to have. Asuka wants to do something with coffee. Shinji considers doing a follow-up study on his StAR project, despite the fact that the project is clearly cursed.

Or maybe he’s the cursed one. He should’ve never inconvenienced these people in the first place. Maybe it’d just be better if he-

 

It’s a small miracle he makes it to his appointment. Not in the sense of being late, but just… general mindset. Excitement has turned into a guilt, irritation and feelings of failure on all fronts of his life. At least there’s no extra anxiety sprinkled on top, since he knows exactly where he’s going. Conveniently, the clinic he’s registered at does mental health the floor above. The stairway up is ridiculously tiny, and the other end it feels like a completely different building. 

Shinji sits down on the worn leather sofa, eyeing the women’s health and car magazines left on the table. Nothing of interest to him. 

He doesn’t even have to wait very long before one of the two doors opens, and a woman in her thirties peeks out. She looks… cosy. Like she’s already adopted the style of a sixty-year-old therapist, with a long skirt and large flowing colourful scarf wrapped around her. She has a bit of a resting bitch face, which Shinji can relate to.

“Ikari? C’mon on in.”

All in all, Shinji gets a pretty good vibe from her. He just hopes it would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o yea, u can find me on tumlrs by iljanne for weeby shit and prettywordsforprettybirds for writy shit
> 
> next chap we finally get to the Meat of the Trauma hell yeeeeeaaaa!!!


	5. Who Am I?

“Full name Shinji Ikari… Age 22. And the doctor referred you here for depression, correct?” the therapist asked, looking back up from her notes. Shinji nodded.

“Now I’d like to know if there’s anything specific you’re looking from these therapy sessions?”

“I don’t know…” He really doesn’t know. He hasn’t even thought about it before. “Moral support?”

The therapist hums, thinking. “What people look from therapy, and what they need from therapy can be different. But knowing what they need will take some time, because first I have to know what their situation is. What you need… that comes later. What you look from therapy can tell a lot about what is the immediate situation, what you struggled with most recently or what occupies the largest part of you mind. For those who have lost someone they love, it’s often coping with the sudden space that has been left in their life. Those who suffer from disorders often look for help to live a normal life. Couples go look for help from relationship therapy because they want to mend a bond, which has often been broken by cheating or escalated fights.”

Shinji sits there and listens. He hasn’t really lost someone and he has no romantic relationship. Even the disorder part… 

“Well I came here for my general depression, but I don’t know… if that really… if I really count as someone with a disorder looking for help with life.”

“Depression is a disorder as well.”

Shinji can feel himself cringe, his face visibly scrunching up in disdain. He knows, part of the depression is just making him feel like there’s nothing wrong with him, rather just him being a bad person.

“Trying to make me accept what I suffer from is ‘valid’ or not my fault, I understand it from an objective viewpoint. But at this point it just seems more condescending rather than helpful. It’s been said so many times it’s lost its original meaning and impact.” He pauses and blinks. “And I just completely lost my train of thought.”

It had started to happen more often than he’d like.

The therapist nods and smiles.

“From an objective standpoint, depression is also a mood disorder. So whether you like it or not, you, with your former diagnosis, are ‘valid’.”

Shinji snorts. He actually is starting to like the woman. 

“But going back to our original topic,” the therapist says. “You can clarify what you want from therapy in the future. Also a few things about your rights as a patient. If you feel like you cannot talk about things openly with me, you have a right to request another therapist. No such request will be held against you. However, if you feel like we have good enough chemistry and decide to confide in me, all things discussed during these sessions will remain between us  _ unless… _ ”   The therapist gives Shinji a pointed look. “I decide, in good judgement that you have the intention of seriously harming yourself or someone else. Or if you have disclosed a crime. This includes witnessing domestic abuse, abuse or neglect of children, elderly or people with disabilities. And under court order, I may have to release some information. Other than that,” her tone turns lighter. “Go ham!”

Shinji nods, wondering if he would ever be in such a situation. Probably not, but it’s the same as thing what he would do in a zombie apocalypse. Unlikely, but a part of him gets fixated on the idea and demands he prepares himself somehow.

He forcefully pushes the thought back into the dark and thick swamp of his mind, just so he could pay proper attention when the therapist begins talking again.

“Now that we got that out of the way, mind filling in a couple questionnaires? You might’ve done them before and we can discuss how your situation has changed from back then. Also it’d be a great help if you could tell me more about your previous diagnoses and medications slash therapies.”

Shinji takes the papers from her, vaguely recognising some of the questions. He doesn’t know if they are the same ones from a few years back, or if they’re just similar to the ones online he has done couple of times just to track his own progress.

...Or when he has filled them out of boredom. Whichever.

Being made to reflect back on the last few months and think about it, does make him more aware of his actual mental state. He still struggles with lack of pleasure or interest in things. He still feels depressed and hopeless. His sleep rhythm has been completely thrown out of the window with the irregular uni schedule and living on his own. Well, with Asuka, but she didn’t really have healthy bedtimes either. The same goes to his eating habits. The intense fluctuation of salads for one week and complete junkfood the next might’ve taken a toll on his body, without him even noticing. If there’s one thing, it’s that he has the energy to do things. Or maybe it’s just fear-of-failure-fueled adrenaline rushes.

The latter half of the questionnaire leaves him thinking if he’s a nervous wreck of a person who manages to pull a perfect illusion of a functioning young adult every day. Maybe his jittering is simply regarded as a humorous stereotypical university student cramming for the finals. Except it’s 80% of the days, and not just the end of the term.

The last question makes him snort.

  1. If this questionnaire has highlighted any problems, how difficult have these problems made it for you to do your work, take care of things at home, or get along with other people?



So hard, he thinks. So, so very hard.

He passes the first questionnaire back to the therapist, and starts filling out the second one. In a vague sense, he finds the title ‘Depression Test’ hilarious. What he doesn’t find so hilarious is the flashback the second question gives him. He immediately circles ‘I feel the future is hopeless and that things cannot improve’ and tries to move on, only to have to circle another extreme answer, ‘I feel I am a complete failure as a person’.

Shinji sighs and decides to take but a moment to gather himself. He’s not going to be so pathetic as to breakdown from filling a fucking  _ questionnaire _ . The short break helps, and he fills the next few questions fast. He stops at the seventh, and after careful contemplation, circles ‘I am disappointed in myself’, rather than go with the extreme ‘I hate myself’.

The ninth question makes him feel a sense of nostalgia, and slight relief. He circles both ‘I have thoughts of killing myself, but I would not carry them out’ and ‘I would like to kill myself’. He considers the situation an improvement. At least he doesn’t have to lie.

The rest of the questionnaire goes easy, and not much later he’s submitted the second one as well.

“I saw a strong emotional reaction to at least one of the questions. We can go over and talk about your answers next time, because we are a little short on time. Did you have any previous diagnoses?” the therapist asks, laying the questionnaires on the table between them.

“Yeah, uh…” Shinji thinks back to the official diagnosis. “A moderate depression… General anxiety… And some sleep problems. I got fluoxetine for the first two and melatonin to help me keep some sort of a sleep cycle.”

She nods and writes something in her notepad. “Right. And you felt like fluoxetine helped?”

Shinji considers it carefully and nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Right. So we’ll put you back on fluoxetine, let’s say 40mg. What about melatonin?”

Shinji gives her a bashful grin. “I have melatonin… I just haven’t used it much.”

She snorts. “Okay. That’s gonna be on your agenda from now on. I’d recommend taking it before midnight, but couple of minutes late isn’t too bad.”

She glances at her watch. “Aaand that’s all the time we have for today. Summary of tasks: think about what you want from these sessions, get your prescription from downstairs - I’m gonna run it through a doctor so you can get them today, and start taking them, along with the melatonin.”

Shinji nods. It’s like she had read his mind when she gave him the summary of his tasks. Now he actually has a chance of remembering to write them down when he exits the office. 

They shake hands, and she leads him back outside. He goes back downstairs and waits at the reception until a nurse hands him a prescription slip. The pharmacy is close by, and he has his medication in his hands not even half an hour after his first therapy session has ended. 

He feels, dare he say, hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nvm, just a lil bit of Meat n Trauma.  
> Let's try again in the next chapter.   
> OH FFFF- the background plot. Can't forget the life outside therapy


	6. Can I please have a Chapter Title? No? Understandable, have a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? It doesn't make sense to update twice in one night?  
> Look, buddy. Time is an illusion.  
> Also I want to procrastinate sleep.

“Kaworu-kun!”

Nagisa Kaworu stops a second before merging with the masses exiting the lecture hall, and turns toward Shinji.

“Hey… Uh… I’m really sorry for having been so difficult with my schedule. But uh… I was thinking if you had time this weekend. There’s a Korean film festival going on in GFT and… I kinda wanted to go see one of them, since they’re doing Noir this year. And wanted to know if you wanted to come along.” Shinji feels his whole face burning. It’s bad enough when he was to speak to people normally, but when it’s Kaworu, the effects are even worse. Shinji begs his face to not be grossly red all over.

Whether Kaworu notices, he shows no signs Shinji can see. He’s smiling the little smile that plagues Shinji hours after talking with Kaworu face to face, seemingly without care in the world. Shinji has a feeling Kaworu is _really_ good at controlling his behaviour.

“Gods are on your side, Shinji-kun. I have no prior engagements for the weekend. Would you join me for dinner before we engage in murder mysteries?”

 

“Can I ask a question?”

Kaworu presents an open palm, signaling his permission.

Shinji fiddles with his napkin. “Why do you talk… like that?”

“Ah. You mean…” Kaworu stops to think. “Oh yes. Why I talk so pretentious?”

Shinji sputters and nearly yells. “No! It’s not pretentious! Maybe a little dramatic but not pretentious!”

Kaworu’s laugh is good-natured. “I learned most of my English from books. Classic literature to be exact. I admit it has… had somewhat an adverse effect on my speech.”

“Huh…” Shinji replies. He thinks about his speech patterns. When it comes to his second language, he definitely uses a lot more expletives and his accent is American enough for him to have been thought to be from America multiple times even by people from English-speaking countries. “Maybe I should stop watching so many Let’s Plays, and read more books. Maybe then I could stop saying fuck every three minutes.”

“You don’t read much?” Kaworu asks, swirling the straw in his drink.

Shinji leans his chin on his hand, propped on the table. Their food hasn’t arrived yet, it’s not bad manners.

“I used to when I was younger. I’d literally go with my book behind the corner of the school during recess just so I could read. But I haven’t read a proper book in a while. Often, when I try, they’re such bullcrap that I end up quitting right in the middle. I read online, but even then not as much as I would like.”

“What about the classics?”

“Since high school I haven’t touched a Japanese classic. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve read a single English classic. Wait. Dracula. But even that was a shortened version for our middle school English class.”

Kaworu seems surprised by this information.

“No classics? Shakespeare?” A shake of head. “Plath?” A shake of head. “Hemingway? Poe? Orwell? Brontë? Tolkien? Rowling?” All get a shake of a head, except Rowling, to which Shinji raises a finger.

“In Japanese. And I tried to read Dickens, got stuck three pages in, left in the marshes.”

Kaworu is flabbergasted.

“I am left in awe. Which should I feel? Should I be in awe of your untouched mind; should I fear whichever force has shielded you so long?”

Shinji snorts, but yields a reply:

“I’ve meant to read at least a few classics once I have time. That means _you,_ ” Shinji stresses, “can have the honour of making recommendations.”

Kaworu holds a hand near his heart and gives him a smile, his eyes glistening in the low lights of the restaurant. Shinji’s heart swells at the sight.

“It would be an honour, Shinji-kun.”

 

The movie strikes an odd chord with Shinji. When it comes down to it, Coin Locker Girl may not be anything revolutionary to a movie critic or enthusiast, but to Shinji’s rarely movie-going ass is a decent and at certain parts a great experience. There’s something that he finds familiar in Mother, and a plotline he feels part of. But with the movie, it’s almost like he gets to see a glimpse ahead.

It’s dark and it’s cold, and sometimes Shinji and Kaworu bump into each other walking. They glance each other while walking in silence, and when their eyes meet they share a shy smile.

Shinji spies Kaworu’s hand hanging free by his side, and as they wait to cross the road, he grabs it as subtle as he can. He keeps his gaze fixed forward, intently staring at the McDonalds at the other end of the street. Kaworu makes no comment, just fixes his hold so their fingers are properly laced together.

God this is so… Shinji thinks. Is there really no other word to describe it? Schmoopy? Romantic?

No.

The situation is gay.

So very gay.

 

“Hello again, Shinji. Take a seat. Today we are going to go through the questionnaires you filled in last time. But before that, did you figure out what you specifically want from therapy?”

“I think so,” Shinji says as he takes a seat as instructed. “I think I mostly want to be able to freely express my thoughts and talk about my life, past and present. I can’t really do that with friends, not only because it would put them in a tight spot with my heaps of trauma, but because some of the topics have to do with themselves. And maybe some tips and tricks on how to…” He pauses. “Not hate myself so damn much.” Shinji shrugs. “Something like that.”

The therapist nods and writes notes down. “That sounds like a good starting point. It’s good to have someone you can confide in at times of trouble. Most often they are friends and partners, but in cases such as yourself, as you identified, it may be problematic to share certain traumatic aspects with others, as this can leave them with secondary trauma, but with no one to discuss it with if the topic is supposed to be between just the two.”

She writes one more thing down before taking out the questionnaires Shinji had filled last week.

“Can you tell me which of these affect you the most on a daily basis?” she asks and hands the questionnaire back to Shinji, so he can remind himself what was asked.

Shinji hums, skimming over the page. “Right now it’s mostly concentration, I think. I have a really hard time concentrating. And because of that I fall back in my work schedule, which in turn makes me feel self-hatred and frustration. Then I get bad marks, and I feel hopeless about my future, which probably distracts me and leads to a cycle.”

It’s speculation, but Shinji feels pretty comfortable with his analysis.

“Then when something bad happens outside of that, it rocks me out of any semblance of an order, and it takes a lot of effort to get back on track.”

The therapist keeps scribbling notes while Shinji talks.

“Is there any specific part of the questionnaire you’d like to discuss today?” the therapist asks.

Shinji frowns. Then he shakes his head.

“Not really. I’ve become a bit detached by now from my answers, even though it’s only been a week. And I guess the last week has been one of those rare ones that I’m just in a too good of a mood to dwell in my trauma like usual.”

The therapist smiles. “Oh? I’m glad to hear that. Anything specific?”

Shinji rubs his red cheeks. “Well… I kinda went on a date. For the first time in who knows how long. And it went really well? I think?”

“Is that something you’d like to discuss today?”

“Mm… Well something related. You know how there’s this battle between two sides going on with this thing of dating and ‘loving yourself’? One side is like ‘you gotta love yourself for someone else to be able to love you’ - which I know is total bullshit - and the other side is saying you can be loved even when you don’t love yourself. No wait there’s the third side too: ‘someone loving you won’t make you love yourself’.”

Shinji scoffs. As if that’s what he had ever expected.

“Anyway. I think I’ve had this mindset since I was like… ten? But you know how the protagonist in almost every media has to suffer before they are loved by their love interest? Yeah… that- that really got ingrained into my brain. Like I would imagine these situations where my life would go down an absolutely tragic path, because that meant I would finally be loved. But now I have someone showing interest in me even though… I’m not dying. Or live in a horribly abusive home where my dad beats me every night. Or have no friends and am horribly bullied in school to the point of ridiculousness.”

He goes quiet.

He continues, voice barely a whisper.

“It’s like a dream and a nightmare in one for someone to like me for who I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look. Meat.  
> Expect more of that from now on.
> 
>  
> 
> PS. I'm pathetic and squeal over my own writing when doing KawoShin scenes.


	7. Pre-Packaged Coping Mechanisms

They’ve been sitting quietly, both thinking about Shinji’s words. Shinji is trying to give a name to this feeling, but the words elude him. Surely he’s been able to name it before… he simply has forgotten. Just like he had forgotten his feelings, until he was forced to examine himself again.

“Media…” his therapist starts, slowly, clearly giving her words great consideration. “It has been shown to have great impact on how we perceive the world and how we behave. And as I think about it, there is a very common theme in multiple genres to… hastily slap on a tragic backstory.”

Shinji sighs.

“It drives characters forward.”

His therapist nods. 

“But things rarely work out like that in reality. There is a possibility that having been exposed to such narrative for a prolonged time has caused your perception of how falling in love works.”

“But why do I believe that when I know that’s now how I fall in love?”

“We tend to see ourselves as the exception to a rule,” his therapist says and smiles. “While everyone else is smack-middle average.”

The words that had been lost on him echo to him from the back of his mind. He sighs.

“Goddamn martyr complex.” He stares at the floor. “Doesn’t really help that I like feeling depressed. Well, not the general mundane kind of fog, but when I get really sad. It has a sort of… a sweet flavour to it. I used to try to imagine sad events for the sake of that too. Especially… where I sacrifice myself for others. I don’t want to die, but imagining it gives me that rush.”

Could suicidal thinking become addictive? Shinji isn’t sure. Although… it’d explain how back in middle school, when he still had the time, he could lie in bed for hours and hours stuck inside his head, playing a scene after scene of him sacrificing himself and finally gaining the love and adoration he had so craved for.

“And the guilt other people would show… after being shown how foolish they were for not embracing me while I was still alive… That was just an added bonus.”

His therapist stares at him thoughtfully. Shinji keeps staring at the floor.

“And what about now?”

Shinji shakes his head.

“Not that much. Probably more due to not having any time, or maybe I’ve lost the capability to concentrate in even that. Maybe that also counts as a ‘pleasurable activity’ I’ve lost interest in,” Shinji says with a weak laugh.

“It is possible. But it’s also possible it has been a coping mechanism which was no longer needed. Compared to when you did have these fantasies and to the times you haven’t, have you felt happier? Have you had more support or felt more loved?” she asks him.

Shinji nearly denies it outright. That couldn’t be right. He had been addicted to the feeling, not using it as a coping mechanism to-

But addictions… are coping mechanisms, a part of him reminds.  Trying to fill the void his father had left with bare minimum care… Lack of friends… Feelings of insecurity warped with self-hatred. 

Shinji gives his thoughts a little laugh. 

“It was all mostly before my third year in high school. I had… barely any friends, who I don’t liked me very much. I barely interacted with my dad. So yeah, things were a lot worse back then. I guess it makes sense. I both resented them and craved for their affection and acceptance. Guilt for forsaking me would’ve quite perfectly encompassed both.”

Shinji feels a little lightheaded. His vision is hazy, and he has to ask his therapist if it’s possible to leave it there. She nods, saying they’re nearly out of time anyway. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever been grateful for having a session end early. Either something is going very bad or very good. At least, he thinks it’s the latter.

 

He pushes the last few minutes from the therapy session from his mind the second he exits the office. He goes home, finishes his dinner and leaves Asuka sitting in the lounge, like he usually does at some point. It takes only a couple of minutes of listening to one of his favourite podcasts before he can feel he’s drifting. He shouldn’t take a nap, they never do him any good, but he’s so warm and cosy under his covers.

“Just a little bit…” he mutters to himself.

He turns to his side and lets his eyes close. He’ll surely wake up in an hour or so.

 

Or so he would think! His eyes are filled with gunk and it’s dark outside.

“Fuck…” he says.

He looks at the time on his phone. It’s midnight. And better yet, his head is pounding. 

He gets up, rummaging through his desk in darkness for any kind of pain medication, and downs it with a sip of stale water from the bedside bottle. He wonders if he’ll manage to fall asleep again. 

He lies in darkness until it’s clear he is not getting any more sleep. He watches a few YouTube videos, but staring at the screen is painful with the remaining headache. He settles for listening to music. 

Somehow he remembers songs from when he was ten or so. It’s been so  _ long _ . He finds them easily from the internet, gives them another listen, and is blown away by the difference. Not in the music, per se, but the lyrics and their meaning. They’re much more deeper and make more sense to him now, than they did then. The difference is even greater in the songs that are in English. There was so much he had missed, listening to them as a kid. Some were truly heartbreaking and manage to bring a few tears to his eyes. 

By the time he’s gone through several artists and their several albums, it’s morning. He hasn’t slept another wink.

He gets up. The kitchen is a mess, Asuka not having bothered to clean up after herself (as usual). When Shinji opens the fridge he groans and his brows bunch together. There really isn’t anything left to eat. 

He is about to aim for some pre-packaged ricemix when the cream cheese hits his eye. Maybe there’s still hope!

Opening it destroys that. There are suspicious red stains on it, and Shinji is not about to chance it. He throws it away, into the already full bin. To think it was emptied two days ago…

The amount of trash two people alone can produce was… insane. Shinji’s heart hurts with the inability to recycle in this country. Not that it matters much with corporate waste- 

Shinji sighs and turns his thoughts back to the bag of instant ricemix.

The rice is a bland excuse for a meal, but ends the grumbling of his stomach. The banana he steals from Asuka satiates the grumbling that seems to have only gotten louder with his lousy meal.

It’s not even nine in the morning when he’s already out of the house. The sunlight is a miracle drug and he feels so  _ alive _ . Like he could take on the whole damn world. 

For once…

He feels like he deserves to live. 

And not just live, but to thrive and flourish!

 

At the end of the day the feeling is completely gone. Shinji’s heard a lot of drowning metaphors in his life about depression, but it’s never really struck to him as true. To him, his life is a pile of dry sand which he’s meant to keep in place, but it keeps getting swept around in the wind. He can keep sweeping the pile back together, but the wind won’t stop. It’s a struggle, with little reward. Letting everything fall apart won’t kill him, but it will make him want to kill himself.

Or something. Maybe.

He mindlessly scrubs the dishes he’s been eyeing for a good three days now. 

For all his intellectualism and supposed creativity, he really is crap with any kind of metaphors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so guess who th FUck came to a realisation about certian parts of their life today... at precisely 3 am.  
> yAH. that was. that was totally organic right there. thef uck  
> annnyways, i'll drink to that trauma bro  
> *sips that sweet pepsi-kola*


	8. Reification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reification - Consideration of a human being as an impersonal object.  
> Reification - Making something real, bringing something into being, or making something concrete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 4am and i can't be arsed to read it thru again  
> am sory

“Have you guys decided what you’re writing your dissertation on?” Asuka asks their little group after a lecture. Most of them end up shaking their heads. The deadline is getting closer, and a looming sense of dread over deciding their life’s biggest work so far is hanging over all of them. Well, all of them except for Shinji. Because Shinji, for once in his life, has a concrete idea.

“Sexual violence movement’s effects on the student populations’ view of sexual violence,” Shinji cites the proposal he has already begun writing.

“Oh! That’s pretty cool!”

“Lucky! I still have no idea what to do it on. Maybe I’ll do drugs. Caffeine.”

Asuka frowns.

“Isn’t that too close your StAR project?”

“Nah, they said it’s fine if it’s different enough,” Shinji says and breaks out a candy bar. He stayed awake the whole lecture, he’s deserved it.

“Wait what was your StAR project about again?”

“So the StAR project- you know what? It’s my first dissertation. I’m doing two dissertations, since I’m doing this project completely _on my own_ . It’s the students and the sexual violence campaign disengagement one. “Why don’t our students want to come to constantly cancelled and moved meetings about sexual violence prevention!?” Can’t imagine why,” he says dryly. “Now all of this of course will only happen when my _ethics_ get approved.”

He sighs.

“If they get approved…”

 

Later that day, he sees his supervisor’s notes in a forwarded email and opens it.

_You ABSOLUTELY cannot ask these questions! You have to take them out immediately! And add the university’s policy regarding disclosures from the training._

Now, in retrospect, Shinji agrees with the committee’s decision. But the bristling of fury from his supervisor’s aghast reaction takes over.

 _She_ had been the one who ordered him to come up with 50 questions regardless of their quality!

 _She_ had been the one who had given him the okay on them in the first place.

 _She_ is supposed to be an accomplished researcher in her field and should know how to properly word interview questions that were dealing with a sensitive topic.

He makes the changes, _stressing_ how the he will _not_ accept _any_ disclosures.

He locks the application, writes the signature request to his supervisor and wonders how many _goddamn_ days it will take this time for her to respond.

 

“I really want to do this project, but I feel like I’m being used as a scapegoat for my supervisor. Just look at all these mistakes that are totally mine, a stupid undergraduate who has no idea what he’s doing! I was so excited, and at first I thought there was going to be someone else with me in on this. But no. Alone, it just takes so much energy. I’m running out of the hype and steam for it,” Shinji groans and slumps in his chair in the therapist’s office.

“What’s the project about?” his therapist asks.

“It’s supposed to be a group interview on what barriers students experience that prevent them from interacting with the sexual harassment and violence campaign in our uni.” His therapist raises a brow. Shinji laughs. “For a one person project it really is a little too fucking huge, but I’m still kind of excited to do it. I’ve started to call it my first dissertation, because that’s what it basically is.”

His therapist nods, and then she suddenly smiles.

“Oh! I haven’t even asked you what you study!”

Shinji feels… a mixture of emotions. He is proud of his field… Just not… not in this context.

He kicks the carpet and embarrasedly mumbles:

“Psychology…”

How stupid was that? To Shinji, it felt stupider than anything else. A depressed psychologist. What an absolute career-goal.

His therapist obviously picks up on it. Her tone is much gentler when she asks:

“Why did you pick psychology?”

Shinji swallows.

“Because… I wanted to help people… I didn’t want them to be treated like I had been before. And I wanted to help myself.”

“Are you worried your own experiences with depression and wanting to become a psychologist clash?”

Shinji nods. It just feels… wrong. Selfish.

“Well, Shinji. It’s time for your first thought experiment. Let’s draw a comparison between you and a medical student. You’re basically the same, except you are focusing on one organ alone. Now, you feel bad about being a psychology student because you’re suffering from depression. Let’s say that the medical student is suffering from some more bodily illness. Let’s say diabetes. You both are lacking certain chemicals in your bodies. Let’s say you both want to help people like you, with similar problems. Is one wrong and the other right? Are both wrong?”

Shinji frowns for a moment. He hasn’t… thought of it that way before.

“No… both are right.”

His therapist nods.

“You just have to think about that when you get those thoughts. You would be surprised how common depression and other disorders are used as a personal inspiration in this field.”

It makes sense, in a way. And yet...

“I know, it’s probably not something I should feel like I need to hide… But… I feel incompetent compared to all my friends and classmates. First year was a breeze compared to all of this. I excelled in all the subjects that didn’t relate to my degree. Now I’m supposed to be doing what I’m passionate about and I keep failing constantly. Combined with feeling like a sham… Although I know I shouldn’t...”

His therapist frowns thoughtfully, tapping her pen a couple of times against the notepad, before beginning to write. While she scribbles her notes, she asks:

“Why do you think you’re incompetent compared to your peers?”

“I… have no self-control left,” Shinji confesses. “I’m completely working based on outside influence, no inner motivation. If there is no looming sense of dread, I might as well not try.” He pauses, digs out the pillow behind his back, wrapping his arms around it. “Stupid thing is, that doesn’t stop the ball of stress inside my guts from twisting around. Maybe if I still went to the gym it wouldn’t be as bad.”

He stays silent for a minute, listening to the scribbling noises of pen against paper.

“I don’t know if the stress is because I suck or my uni sucks. I’m sitting there, in my room, trying to look at this powerpoint from two months ago and nothing makes sense. No, actually, scratch that, I know my uni sucks. It’s a constant battle with them, trying to figure out what the decade old powerpoints are even supposed to be about. Names are written wrong, dates are written wrong, it’s a total nightmare trying to figure out _which_ study they mean when a Batson is written as Baston and the real year is 1997 not 1987.”

Shinji puts his face into the pillow and groans loudly. The ball inside his stomach is tightening again.

“There’s that whole ‘If you can’t change them then you have to change’ but it’s fucking unfair. I’m paying for this shit. I don’t want to pay for my living here and tuition just to try and find a study for half an hour because my teachers are dicks, telling us all year that they’re there for us, but when we email them they “are so sorry” they “just can’t do anything about it” and are too lazy to fix their own fucking mistakes.”

He stops. He forces himself to do three rounds of breathing exercises before continuing.

“And when they give feedback, it’s meaningless. ‘Look at this line. This line is comprehension of your essay. You are the X on the line.’ What the fuck does that even mean? Even telling me ‘oh you need to improve your comprehension’ doesn’t work. How?! I need examples! And then there’s me with my stupid brain that won’t even go and ask. So in the end it’s my fault too. Because I know in my heart it will take thirty minutes of arguing with a teacher to get even a smidgen of useful feedback, and I don’t have those mental resources.”

His staring should be burning a hole through the coffee table.

“But of course I have the mental resources to constantly think about everyone else and _their_ needs. Like today, while Asuka was at work, I cooked. She’s been telling me that she wants to go vegetarian, because it makes her feel better. So I’ve been trying to incorporate more veggies into our food, and you know, kinda inspired by her, tried to eat healthier. Create this supporting environment. So I cooked today, tried to make ramen with more vegetables. Sure I might’ve gone overboard, since I found cabbage mix bags for a ridiculous price, but I halved the amount for the recipe. She thinks it’s a stir fry, I say it’s a soup, the liquid is supposed to be there. It’s an original recipe. She says… She says she can tell. I think about what that’s supposed to mean but say nothing - as usual. But then she goes and literally - _literally_ throws the chopsticks in the freaking sink and I’m just sitting there, trying to figure out why she is so angry. I take pride in my cooking, I’ve done it for a while now, and I can tell it’s no worse than hers, and she’s the one who wanted more vegetables in the first place!”

Shinji takes a deep breath and huffs it out.

“Except that… she doesn’t want vegetables. There are so many she complains are tasteless and she doesn’t like. In her mind, the vegetarianism is only meat, so even healthy amounts of it are disqualified. She keeps eating more pasta, rice, noodles, bread…”

He rubs his temples.

“I hate being so fucking hyper-focused on her life. If I could spend just half of that energy on caring about what _I’m_ doing I could do so much more.”

His therapist’s scribbling has ceased.

“You clearly are aware of being too focused on other people’s lives. But the important thing is to try to stop and refocus your attention when you catch yourself being too focused on other people.”

“But it’s so hard when I’m so used to it.”

“The important part is _trying_ . _Try_ to stop and tell yourself you have to concentrate on your own success.”

 

Asuka keeps skipping class.

At first Shinji worries about her. Slowly it turns into resentment.

 _Can you sign me in today? Thanks_ , she says in another text message to him.

He doesn’t want to, but he does anyway.

 

When she forgets to ask him, he feels relieved. At least he doesn’t have to pretend he wants to. He hopes the university sends an email to her soon.

“I missed one class and they immediately emailed me,” Kaworu says, after Shinji seeks him out after class and confides in him. They walk to the student union and sit down with overpriced coffee in their hands.

Shinji doesn’t want to feel angry, he wants to not care, but he feels so _done_.

“That’s unfair,” he says. The whole system is unfair.

Kaworu shrugs, says he doesn’t mind. His hand rests on Shinji’s knee like he’s the one comforting Shinji, like _Shinji_ is being treated unfairly.

It keeps bothering Shinji. What if he or Kaworu were to miss three classes? Would they get the same treatment as Asuka, or would the school board make good of their disciplinary measures of having them fail the class.

He kicks the ground.

“It’s still unfair.”

Kaworu leans into him until their shoulders touch. Shinji sighs. He just wishes they were treated equally, not based on the staff’s whims.

He feels Kaworu nuzzling the side of his head, and turns to rub his nose into Kaworu’s hair. It smells nice.

“I have to concentrate…” Kaworu starts, expecting him to finish. Shinji had decided to recap his therapy session’s results, so that Kaworu could help him stop these thought patterns, as he is trying, right that moment.

Shinji sighs, feigning to be utterly inconvenienced by having to say the words.

“...on my own success.”

Kaworu smiles, and Shinji smiles a little too.

 

The next day, another text comes in during the morning lecture.

_Can you sign me in? I don’t think I’ll make it in time, but I will be in the tutorial!_

He breathes in through his nose, exhales slowly.

_There’s a break right now just started. But I can sign you in after the lecture if you haven’t made it._

_Thank you!_

Shinji stares blankly into space. Somehow, he doesn’t feel as bad as he had expected.


	9. Paranoid (03)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to stop procrastination for actually studying for exams and then i decided to retake them in june anyways, so waddup!  
> but that gives me more time to procrastinate and write about... whatever this is.  
> title is a reference to uh... a finnish rapper's song. uh... pyhimys, if ya wanna check him out. to-torille? :D

Shinji washes his face, brushes his teeth and shuts off the lights. It’s a little late, two in the morning, but still early enough for him to get a good night’s sleep. He feels good. He’s been productive today, sorting his winter clothes to replace the storage space that his summer clothes had occupied, and just generally having cleaned up.

He pulls the covers over his shoulders. The screen light of the still running laptop, which he is trying to coax into transferring his thousands of pictures from a cloud to an actual hard-drive, lights the room even on the dimmest setting, and he switches sides to stare at the wall.

Few minutes later he switches sides again.

And again.

And… again.

“Okay, what the fuck?” he mumbles to himself.

He feels way too strung up for - now two thirty - in the morning.

He gives up and switches on the light, struggles the laptop onto his bed. The corner is damaged and digs into his wrist, leading to an ever increasing frustration fight with a charger banging against the wall and his feet feeling way too warm under the covers and _what is with his pillows, why is his wrist hurting and his skin feeling gross and itchy and-_

He jumps off, opens the window as wide as it can go, only to have the goddamn bedroom door open from the draft like the piece of shit it is. He drags the covers off the bed, onto the floor and sits back down with his back against the properly propped up pillows, and his fingers digging deep into this aching wrist.

He had just wanted to write his thoughts out. But he has always been the type to get more than he bargained for.

He sits in silence, listening to the never-dying traffic outside his window. There is always someone who needs to drive somewhere at 2:36 on a Monday morning. And a couple of assholes walking and shouting things for the fun of it.

The door opens again, and he shuts it with a defeated sigh.

He is sure his therapist had only meant well when she had encouraged him to write his thoughts down when they wouldn’t leave him alone… It’s not like she could’ve anticipated the hassle of emotions he’d have to go through to even open a document to write on.

 

“I’m not gonna lie, I feel undeserving of the diagnosis. I am studying for higher education. I have friends. I even have budding relationship with a romantic partner. No major trauma in my childhood that I can remember, just shit everyone had to go through. Still I can’t pick myself up and get over it, " Shinji says.

“I already felt like that, and it was only made worse recently. Like I was listening to some depression podcasts, two actually, and one was super-relatable, short, with to the point observations, and the other was this interview with comedians who have depression or some other mental illness. And some of it was relatable, other things were not, a lot of times I felt it was just dragging on and on about things I felt didn’t matter. Very American in that sense.” Shinji laughs a little.

“Anyway, there was this comedian who was talking to the interviewer and… They were talking about how this comedian used to drown out his depression getting absorbed by his work. And how it’s apparently somehow ‘scientifically proven’ to be better for you? Like you recover faster? And I just get hit by this huge wave of fucking disappointment in myself and guilt and self- _hatred_ because I haven’t done that. The answer was right there the whole fucking time, I just had to get over myself and do my work obsessively. All these years we’ve been having this narrative of ignoring your problems only makes them worse and you have to face your trauma and work with it and becoming a workaholic hurts you and those around you and now it’s the _solution_?” he asks no one in disbelief. “And then I take the classic step back and think how it’s ‘one study’ mentioned in a podcast, and how there’s so few variables mentioned and so many variables in the real world and significance level, and the types of trauma it affects and peer-reviews and-”

He stops to take a deep breath.

“Point is, now I feel stupid for both, because part of me takes it at face value, because of _course_ that’s the solution, that's always how it is in life, and another part is disappointed because just about anything makes me freak out and pulls me into an existential crisis.”

He stares at the coffee table and the empty tea mug.

“Or maybe I’m just so obsessed with picking at my traumas over and over and over for something.” He frowns as he thinks over his words. “Like.. you know when people forget they’ve told a story before? They just really want you to know this one story from them. I’m the same with my trauma, except it doesn’t even matter if I have told the story before. I find myself wanting to tell the same story over and over. As some weird form of validating my trauma. Get some kind of a reaction. Especially if I’ve recalled some inane fact about the situation, because then surely people will turn to me and finally understand how _horrific_ my life has been, how I deserve at least a _little_ bit more in life.”

He heaves a long sigh.

“Even now I have an urge to just… dig up old diaries and other word documents filled with old thoughts and worries, just so I can properly go through them. And I’m scared that if I don’t, there’ll be a day when something hits me, and I haven’t discussed it here, in therapy, and instead I’ve wasted precious session time on bitching about some inane trouble I have with Asuka or some attempt to just fill the time because I’m scared to leave time unused.”

His fingers tap the arm of the chair in an irritated or embarrassed rhythm.

“I mean… Honestly, my relationship with writing is perfectly illustrated by the fact that I have ‘emergency diaries’. Yeah. My diaries aren’t ‘Dear diary, today I picked some apples’ but ‘Dear diary, today I nearly killed myself, again.’ It’s literally so I can moan and bitch about something.”

A thought keeps popping into Shinji’s mind. He has a hard-drive filled with the contents of his old laptop, including the documents he had filled with his thoughts and feelings when he was younger. Some of those were probably already a decade old. Some of the things that used to haunt him night after night he has already probably forgotten.

“Moan and bitch. Do you think that accurately represents what you do?” quips in his therapist.

Shinji shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. The moment those words left his mouth he knew he was heading for more CBT.

“No. Complain. That is accurate.”

His therapist snorts, clearly having caught up to his thoughts. “I know it may be annoying, but it’s for the better in the long run.”

That makes him feel a little better, and he nods.

“I want to rehash all the things that have gone wrong in my life but at the same time…”

He stops drumming the armrest and shifts in his seat to lean forward.

“There was this one author… Like her sister was really depressed, and suicidal, so she thought she’d try to admit herself in. But they told her that since she was well enough to realise it, she wasn’t a priority. She went right back home and tried to jump off the roof,” Shinji recalls. “And that’s… that’s what I’m afraid of. Not only might I be taking away the resources from such a person at the very moment, someone who truly needs the help more than me, but what if by using all these resources now… I end up not able to use them when I really need them?”

He groans at the words that he has just said, leaning back again.

“Like 99% of the stuff that comes out of my mouth in this room are so stupid. Logically, I know none of it is correct, but I just can’t help the ‘what if’ that keeps _haunting_ me.”

“Why don’t you think you deserve this therapy?” his therapist asks.

“Honestly, if I was told that the therapy slot was taken up by a soul-searching millennial, while someone trying to survive through addiction or someone trying to manage their bipolar or something, I’d go drag their ass out of the seat in two seconds flat.” Shinji sighs. “It’s even worse with the free healthcare, because that means resources are even tighter, and I’m not even local. I’m imposing on services formed by other people’s taxes.”

He’s slouching in his seat, slowly sinking down with every word. His chin tucked into the fabric of his shirt, he mutters:

“Why is it that I constantly find myself treating myself like some conservative uncle?”

The question is completely rhetoric. Shinji already knows the answer, and they’ve talked about it multiple times now, but it’s just that this time it really is clear, with Shinji’s politics and opinions having a head-on clash.

“Looks like the CBT is working its magic,” his therapist says and grins at him. Shinji wants to return the grin, but his thoughts are already moving on.

“What… what happens when I’m deemed ‘cured’?” he asks in a whisper.

His therapist shifts in her seat, and her head leans to one side.

“There’s… no cure for depression. People recover, yes, but there’s always a chance it can come back.”

“Well recovered then. What happens?” he asks, voice louder. He’s scared. “When my brain is all CBT’d and therapy isn’t required anymore, what happens then?”

He has no idea what could happen. The therapy he had gotten in his high school years had been flawed from the beginning, riddled with omissions and half-truths, lack of direction and connection. Therapy had ended during a summer, meds had been taken away during spring, his hopes had been lifted. He had gotten through the fall (how accurate - _fall_ ) and the dark winter, but had he really recovered or simply gotten back to his ‘normal’ state.

Is that how it is going to end this time too?

Will he be left to his own devices, deemed treated by letting him whine until the topic becomes obsolete, his wounds, that he had scratched open that had brought him there in the first place, have scarred again, with none of the matter infecting his flesh ever released from within. Will his bones always remain healed wrong, because he keeps breaking them on his own and the professionals keep placing bandages over them, never checking if they’re in the right angle.

“Shinji?”

Shinji gasps a little at the sound of his name and looks up at his therapist.

“Sorry! Got… lost in thought.”

His therapist smiles at him and nods. Then her smile turns more apologetic.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. We can continue on this topic next time.”

Shinji smiles a little, trying to tell her it's okay, and gets up from his chair. His therapist walks to the door and opens it for him.

“Okay. See you next week!”

“Yep. And Shinji.” She waits for him to turn back around before she continues. “In simple terms, what happens after is that you live your life until you feel you need to come back to therapy. Like you already did.”

Shinji blinks.

“Huh.”

He thinks about it a bit more.

“I guess so,” he agrees with a laugh. And it's actually genuine.

  


There have been times in Shinji’s life that he’s considered shutting off all his social media just so he could concentrate better and maybe gather himself. The thoughts increase when exams creep closer and closer each week. He still has yet to act on any of it, swamped with presentations and reports.

It’s another stressful evening of complaining and pushing back tears as minutes pass by, and a report hand in deadline looms over both Asuka’s and Shinji’s heads. They had tried to be early on this, not let it gather all on the last day, but as usual, they’re still unfinished, with less than two hours ‘til the deadline.

Shinji’s eyes wander up and stare out of the window. He hates himself. He has no one else to blame but himself for all the pain and suffering he is experiencing. He really, truly hates himself.

It’s two minutes until midnight when he presses the submit button, and the loading icon keeps going round and round and round. Much longer than ever before. His hands are shaking, as he watches the seconds tick by. The site stops loading and the submission time is in red. He feels empty inside.

Cursing wanders through the hallway from Asuka’s room, and soon enough she slams the door open and stomps out.

“It loaded for ten fucking minutes! I didn’t dare to refresh because what if it would take even longer after that!? I hate this university! I’m gonna email and say this is not my _fucking_ fault.”

“Mm…” Shinji agrees. He puts that on his list as well.

“I need a fucking drink,” Asuka groans and true to her words, pulls the half-empty rosé from a cupboard.

Shinji still hasn’t moved from his seat when he says:

“Psychology’s such bullshit. It’s just guesswork, boxes within boxes, evidence made to fit a theory and an agenda. Diagnoses are wild guesses and even neuroimaging is flawed.”

He stays quiet for a moment, barely registering Asuka’s eager and approving noises as she gulps down the wine.

“Fuck, now I’m questioning my own goddamn reality,” he moans, putting his head in his hands.

“You and me both, Shinji,” Asuka says. “You and me both.”


	10. Easy Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wos dis? a gotye song reference? u betcha sweet ass it is  
> and hhahahhahahahah yyyyeaaahhhh that one convo? writing it out?? still had me shaking. i! ain't! over! shit!
> 
> And yeah, I kinda wanted to give a bit more of a warning, like there's nothing in this chapter so much, but just keep in mind in the future that tags may change, and the existing tags rly are there for reason, and... therapy... gonna be some real talk about stuff like.. suicide. like attempts and shit

Shinji can’t even remember what weekday it is. Classes haven’t been a thing for two weeks now, and he’s lost all sense of time. His circadian rhythm is out of the window: he wakes at three in the afternoon or later, tries his best to write notes and study for the upcoming exams, while also juggling three different assignments, only to feel completely worn out by six in the evening. He spends the rest of the night fucking around, switching endlessly between websites, until sleep catches up to him with the sounds of morning traffic.

Nothing happens in those days. Asuka’s anger flares a few times, but even that dies relatively quickly with Shinji avoiding her like the plague. He tries to take at least a few walks a week, but with so little daylight while he’s actually up, it proves harder than should be.

He wakes up in the late morning, stiff all over and remembering vaguely having woken up several times from his sleep to his body being in pain. 

He has a bad feeling about today.

He lies in bed, trying to get his body to relax and stop cramping. He feels older than he is, in more than just his soul. He wonders if his health is really that bad. 

He takes his phone in his hand, to check the time, only to be bombarded with notifications. Some of his online friends have sent messages to group chat, and judging by the last message something sad has happened. Shinji cannot bring himself to care right that moment. Another notification of two emails is right below. 

_ Re:Ethics Application Not Approved _

_ Ethics Application Not Approved _

What do they mean ethics application not approved? He… he has spent so much time on this, over half a year. He’s done his research, his training, his paperwork.

He opens the email, downloads the attached letter, and reads with ever increasing fury.

_ Questions… ill-thought out… could be answered by literature… competence of researcher… poses an unacceptably high risk…  _

“What the fuck!”

He’s doing a dissertation on nearly the _exact_ same subject. If the questions are bad, why hadn’t his supervisor done anything about it  _ before-hand _ ? Did  _ anyone _ in this university know what anyone  _ else _ was doing?

He exits the PDF and checks his other notifications.

_ bio results are up! _

_ omg i did so bad _

_ i got like 68% _

Shinji wants to throw his phone at a wall. But instead, he embraces his fate. He gets up and takes out his laptop, crosses his fingers and logs in to check his report grade.

He sees a 45% and prays it’s similarity instead of his actual grade. His prayers aren’t answered. 

He really feels like crying.

Maybe daily problem metabolism is slower for some people. While others keep going through fifty problems a day, people like Shinji get completely jammed up by four, and break down. Depression and such just make it worse, like clogging the machinery that is already brittle.

 

A few hours later he’s on the phone with Ritsuko, his father’s coworker and someone he basically considers an aunt. His answers are short and snappish, and he really does feel bad but can’t bring himself to give more effort into appearing friendlier.

“You probably haven’t heard from your father in a while…”

“Nope,” Shinji answers. They make sure they’re both alive once a month, but that’s the extent of their communication. Sometimes Shinji still tries and they have a call, but it usually lasts only five minutes before he’s run out of things to talk about and questions to ask his father.

“Then knowing him, he didn’t bother to tell you Fuyutsuki-sensei got admitted to the hospital after performing some acrobatics,” Ritsuko tells him, as always preferring vague euphemisms rather than actually telling him the extent of the injuries. “And he’s been a little out of it, but they’ll fix his medication soon. He’ll be out in three days, I think, and then he’s going to move to a care home.”

Things are moving way too fucking fast for Shinji. 

“Wha-”

Ritsuko continues on.

“So I’m going to send you some pictures of his stuff, because not everything is going to fit in the new place, it’s quite a lot smaller, and you can pick a few thing to remember him by.”

Shinji doesn’t like the wording one bit. His whole body is going numb, bit by bit, as he struggles with the words.

“I uh, yeah I’ll- is it okay if I look at them later, I have so many assignments that I don’t think I have the time right now…” he reasons, really hoping none of this is urgent because he is  _ not _ processing any of this, he’s really not in the mood nor in a good place and-

“Yeah, that’s fine. So do you know when you’re coming back for summer?” Ritsuko jumps to another topic, leaving Shinji shaking his head, trying to figure out if grandpa Fuyutsuki’s state is actually critical enough that he should be saying that he’s coming home right that second, or if it’s just a bad change of topic on Ritsuko’s part.

“Uh, I don’t know yet, I haven’t.. thought about it really, what with my exams coming up and all… And I wanted to look for a part-time job too so…”

“Couldn’t you look for one here?”

The question is inevitable. Shinji sighs.

“Thought it might be easier here…” He really doesn’t want to try and explain to someone who was last looking for a job thirty years ago and was basically begged by several companies to join them about the employment rates and job application process for millenials.

The world takes pity on him, and Ritsuko informs him she has to go. He says goodbye to her and with as much enthusiasm as he can, he wishes her and her coworkers well.

 

Asuka comes home from work around six. Shinji greets her and asks:

“Do you have any recipe in mind for dinner tonight?”

“You don’t have to eat what I’m eating,” she says back with a snap, and Shinji freezes. He doesn’t like the tone nor the implication of her words. 

_ I’m not a dog- I’m not a dog! I don’t always fucking follow-! _

He silences the words and stays quiet as she stomps around the flat, following her from the corner of his eye. Trying to ease the tenseness in the air and in body he speaks up again:

“You know for the prospective memory stuff, they really captured well the arguments against lab-based experiments with just one letter.  _ They read an article? _ ”

Asuka stops and stares at him. Her words are short and flat.

“I don’t get it.”

Shinji swallows and tries again.

“I think it just perfectly summarises the whole argument. How you have experiments based on reading articles or… word lists or stuff, and then base the theory-”

“I don’t get it. Sorry, maybe it’s just me. I’m not in a good humour right now.”

You aren’t even trying to get it, he thinks, but says nothing. As soon as it’s not as suspicious of him, he leaves the room. He doesn’t say another word to Asuka that day.

He wonders if he hears a little too much in Asuka’ voice sometimes. Or if he hears just more than what she herself hears. 

 

Later in the evening he gets a message from one of his old time online friends. He feels a little bad, having neglected his friends, both online and off, but with a large majority of the being students, he’s sure they all understand. 

_ I dont know Im gonna be honest your goal makes me cringe _

_ Haha _

He reads the message over and over. He answers, confused as to how he’s supposed to react. What comes first to the surface is fear and worry. Has he upset his friend somehow? He knows that people have complained before that he can be a bit of a dick and inconsiderate, but he’s honestly tried to become better. 

But no, his friend assures him they’ve had a good day. They are surprised themselves that they’re being so mean. However, it doesn’t stop them.

Nor does Shinji’s remark of the shallow description and comments being mean or unnecessarily rude seem to stop or slow them down either.

_ *sigh* Fiiiine. I shouldn’t have said that _

Shinji is physically shaking, sitting on his bed in the dark, staring at his phone. 

_ Am I completely wrong though... _

What the hell was happening? 

He tries to distance himself from the situation, not let his emotions, especially anger, take reign. 

_ like i don’t understand what the point was?? _

_ it’s not like i’m childish enough to try and justify myself after… all that _

He’s not going to try and get into an internet argument over the validity of his life goals with someone who hasn’t even tried to ask him what they really are in the first place. He isn’t going to have someone set on calling the verdict as guilty to nitpick any word choices of his descriptions or god-forbid, some holes in his plan that isn’t even 100% set in stone yet. It’s a life goal, for fuck’s sake. An aspiration. 

_ Idk but go on _

Go on with that? He just said he wasn’t going to try and justify himself.

_ as i said, i’m not gonna be tryina justify myself after all that. had it been out of your own initiation and truly wanting to understand maybe but… i can’t. not after that. _

He is so hurt. He is so fucking angry and hurt and confused, and his body keeps shaking right in its core.

_ Makes sense. _

_ So you’re not going to explain this fantasy of yours. _

_ I see _

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.  _ What the fuck.  _ **_What the fuck._ **

_ At least not with that attitude. I don’t have to justify myself to you in anything that has nothing to do with you. _

_ ‘That has nothing to do with you’ lmao cut it out we’ve known each other for 6 years now, ofc i have something to do with it. Your opinion on my life choices is really important to me. _

Shinji wants to scream ‘No! It has  _ fuckall _ to do with you!’

_ it has nothing to do with you personally _

_ and the difference is, that you have to ask for my opinion. _

_ and no matter what you decide, i support you thru it _

_ it’s not up to me to dig thru your motivations _

He really hopes his friend is able to understand him, salvage  _ something _ of this relationship.

_ I’m still going to say my opinion even if you didnt ask because I feel like we’ve had enough friendship progress that I can do that. _

What the absolute fuck did that mean. Shinji bites his pillow, just in case he begins muttering out loud again, like he has a habit of doing lately.

_ Lol _

_ Of course I want you to become the best you. _

Exactly fucking  _ where _ can this be seen? Shinji throws his phone at the other end of the bed and digs his palms into his eyes. He fucking hates everything and wants to die.

A few deep breaths later he stretches and fishes his phone back from the covers, ready to see this fiasco to its end.

_ I have several reasons for thinking so and if you’re interested in hearing them I can point them out _

_ But yeah uh you do you. _

_ Maybe another time we can continue talking about this? _

_ you could’ve started this conversation by saying “hey i have some concerns about your plans, mind hearing them out?” rather than go the route you went. and i kind of feel like you knew it. it’s like you’re looking for a fight, and i don’t understand why. _

_ i don’t have to accept your judgement veiled as an opinion. i don’t have to justify myself, even if you are my old friend.  _

The words keep pouring out like he’s writing prose, except he literally means all of it.

_ i have a limit in how many times i can handle someone trying to antagonise me _

He literally has to check the definition of ‘antagonise’ because he sure as hell isn’t taking any chances in this fight and he doesn’t trust his brain trying to handle a second language in with every vein filled to the brim with adrenalin.

He checks his last words and silences his phone completely. No more notifications, no previews of messages, no nothing.

He needs to sleep all the feelings inside him away before he does something stupid

Or smart, a small voice inside his head says.

  
  


Shinji has two exams. The days pass quickly by, first filled with stress of trying to finish all the notes and learn all the topics in two weeks after three deadlines and post-deadline deadness. But then someone begins talking about ECS, and time begins to pass without as much worry when he decides he will be retaking the exam two months later. A hospitalised grandparent, canceled research project, a severe argument and a following cut-off of a friendship. It seems quite enough to be considered ‘extenuating circumstances’. 

The decision fills him with peace, and he even finds the experience of taking the exams enjoyable. Even useful. Now he knows where he lacks and what kind of questions will be asked in the later exam, giving his poor nerves a well-deserved break. He has the time to do proper notes, not the half-assed version he had struggled to clump together. 

Good lord, he hadn’t even noticed he has visual notes mixed into his problem solving notes. He already hates cognitive enough by itself, but now he’s sabotaging himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this was exciting! no therapy! just pure drama. all in one day. like how it happens in real life :^)  
> no rest for the wicked! none!


	11. Cheyenne

“You have my gratitude.”

Shinji gives Kaworu a bashful shove with his shoulder as they walk.

“No bother.”

Kaworu leans back, much more gentle.

“You didn’t have to come. You even stayed long after you were done, waiting for me to finish.”

“Eeh… it’s nothing…” Shinji says, really not getting why this was such a big deal. It had been kind of fun, testing himself and his knowledge when it didn’t dictate his whole goddamn future. Although, he’s still mad about one of the exam questions. 

They agree to go celebrate the end of the school year and exams in a tearoom below Shinji’s place. They sit down, order, and chat a little with increasing bouts of silence. Kaworu keeps pushing his food on his plate. Eventually he sighs and gives an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for being so under the weather. I think I might’ve caught something.”

“Huh. Maybe you’re the kind of person whose immune system gives up during holidays,” Shinji says. “My dad has a colleague who keeps pushing herself all through the year, and when she gets her holidays, she’s sick for a whole week.”

“You’re accusing me of being a workaholic?”

“Maybe?”

Kaworu hums and pushes a piece of tart around on his plate.

“So what are your plans for the summer? Are you going home? Gonna stay behind and work?” Shinji asks. Long silences are still too awkward for him to handle.

“I’ll stay here for the majority of the time. What about yourself?” Kaworu bounces the question back, and Shinji shrugs.

“I’m going to try to find work that lasts longer than three days… and then I’m going to go home for at least a few weeks. I have to go see my grandpa…”

He really doesn’t want to add anything like ‘before’, because… that’d mean giving up. Everything is fine. Everything  _ will _ be fine. Mentally, he shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and looks up at Kaworu again.

“So yeah, you can hit me up if you get too bored during the summer.”

Kaworu’s smile is weak but warm. 

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

 

After saying goodbye, Shinji goes home. Asuka’s sitting in the kitchen like usual. When he greets her, instead of a greeting, Asuka stands up and stomps past him into her room and then back to her kitchen before Shinji has even managed to get his shoes off. Any good feelings he might’ve had are gone out of the window, and unable to control himself, he cringes when Asuka shouts.

“I’m going to flip!”

You’re always going to flip. At the smallest thing, he thinks and silently tiptoes into his room, closing the door carefully. Any declaration of getting angry doesn’t really help his anxiety, because that is just a step below passive aggressive slamming of doors and stomping, which numbed him to the core. He listens to her stomp around some more, and just as he believes she’s calmed down, what Shinji suspects is a cupboard door slams shut. Shinji is behind a closed door, yet he still flinches.

The covers wrap around him nicely, shielding him from anything and his headphones hide any further sounds of Asuka’s fury. Eventually he even dozes off and wakes up to darkness and silence. He checks his phone to find he’s slept for seven hours already.

Kaworu’s sent him a message.

_ Would you like to come over sometime? _

 

A couple of hours earlier, on the other side of the river running through the land, Kaworu arrives home to a small and expensive flat on the outskirts of the city. The smell of… well, weed and rain in the corridor changes to a much more pleasant smell of warm bread and a classic vanilla scented candle.

“I’m home,” he calls out, just so his flatmate doesn’t think someone’s trying to burgle them again.

“Tea?” comes a reply.

“Yes, please,” Kaworu sighs and sits down at the kitchen table. Nish pours hot water into a cup and drops a teabag and a sugarcube in.

“How was your day?” she asks, sitting down across from him, pushing a plate of freshly baked bread in his direction. Despite feeling no appetite, Kaworu breaks a piece and eats it. It’d be a shame to let all of it cool down, when it’s best fresh from the oven.

“Plague and psyche,” he answers. “I am most definitely coming down with something, but fortune’s on my side. The last of the examinations are finished. I can die in peace.”

“Aw,” Nish coos and pats his head with a pout. “I hope you feel better soon.”

Kaworu snorts and smiles a tired smile.

“You’re truly awful at physical comfort.”

“Hey! I’m doing my best, okay?” Nish retaliates half-heartedly. “You know what we need to do? I mean once you feel better. We need to make pulla. You can bring your boyfriend too.”

Kaworu’s crinkled-up grin makes her stop immediately.

“What?”

“Ah, um we haven’t… really established… if he’s my boyfriend,” Kaworu tries to explain. “At least not officially.”

Nish stares at him incredulously before her face goes on a journey of almost saying something, closing her mouth, cocking her head to the side, furrowing her brows and then saying something… well almost.

“Ooh… oh. Huh.”

Kaworu looks at his mug.

“It' s not clear to me what we are…” he says, and tries not to feel too bad about it.

“Then you should ask him. Sooner the better,” Nish says and sips her tea with her eyes pointed directly at Kaworu, so he knows for certain that she’s given her advice and now it’s up to him to act.

Kaworu wishes he was a little less nervous about it, though.

 

Shinji abandons the comfort of his room for the sake of a late dinner. Asuka doesn’t acknowledge his presence until many minutes later.

“They sent another email about the policy changes. Did you see it?” she asks without even raising her head. Shinji makes a noise of denial, stirring the noodles in the pot. He doesn’t want to bother with actual effort in his dinner.

“We’re basically fine for another year. All we need for the undergraduate, although your master’s degree plans might be affected. Fucking immigration policies.”

Shinji ignores the comment on his master’s degree situation, very well aware and stressed out enough as it is.

“You seem to be doing better than earlier,” he changes the subject.

“Yeah, sorry about,” Asuka waves her hand around in a vague gesture. “All that. The website was fucking up in a major fashion.”

“I hope it got fixed,” Shinji says, holding the hot bowl in his sleeve-covered hands, as he makes his move to leave the kitchen again.

“Of course it did. I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no tech support!” Asuka flexes her arm, and Shinji actually sees a small roundness to it despite her not having partaken in any gym activities for a good couple of months. He snorts and waves her goodbye, locking himself in his room again. 

A few hours later, when he’s trying to sleep again, despite knowing he won’t, he thinks back on their brief conversation.

It was a weird moment. There’s been many a time he has talked with Asuka about being immigrants in a foreign country, but this one night it really hits him. It’s odd. All the talk he’s heard about immigrants, immigration laws, terrorism, xenophobia… All of a sudden it applies to him, albeit still in a distant way. He’s never experienced anyone trying to tell him to go back to his own country. The local people are extremely nice and welcoming to him.

Maybe because he’s a ‘wanted’ immigrant. He comes from an ‘accepted’ country. He contributes enough simply by studying there, spending his foreign money on rent, groceries and other things.

The thoughts leave him staring at a wall on a Tuesday midnight.

An immigrant. Not just a foreigner, or a tourist. An alien.

Could the people’s stance on him change as the policies change?

 

It’s a few days after the exams had finished when Shinji takes the train to the neighbouring city. He waits at the train station as instructed. He keeps scanning the crowd, and it takes a few minutes before the meets Kaworu’s eyes, who is heading towards him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kaworu says little breathlessly.

Shinji checks the time.

“No, you still have a few minutes if you want to take another lap around the station,” he suggests with a straight face. Kaworu shakes his head.

“No, thank you.”

Shinji shrugs and smiles, and falls in step with Kaworu as they being walking back the way Kaworu had come from.

“How have you been?” Shinji asks the mandatory question. Instead of replying something conversation killing like ‘fine’ or ‘good’, Kaworu actually tells him about his week. It’s one of the things Shinji really likes about him. He doesn’t feel awkward when the question is eventually asked back, and he actually goes in depth about how he’s been.

“I did fall ill after all. All those vitamin supplements couldn’t save me.”

“They’re a scam anyway,” Shinji replies.

“I’ve spent four days in bed looking for jobs, volunteering or paid. No replies so far.”

“Ugh, I hate looking for a job. Do you bother with calling them after applying?” Shinji asks as they stop to wait at a bus stop. They both stand near the stop, out of the way of the moving masses, but other less spatially aware people simply stand wherever they feel like. Shinji sends every single one a disapproving look, but does nothing more.

“I do, if there’s a number available.”

Shinji sneers.

“I hate phone calls. Especially here. They can’t understand me, and I can’t understand them.”

“Yeah, but it’s the only effective way of getting people to reply,” Kaworu agrees, and they stand silently, watching the people around them. Someone’s shouting across the street but neither can figure out about what. Some people stop in the middle of the street and make a U-turn, while other simply stop because they’ve seen someone they know, and decide to exchange their pleasantries without moving for the next few minutes, inconveniencing everyone around them.

Their bus arrives, and Kaworu tugs on Shinji’s jacket to make him follow. The bus is old and smells and doesn’t give change. Shinji scrambles for the exact fare, but Kaworu tells him he’s already paid for the both of them. Shinji frowns and promises himself to pay Kaworu back. They sit down in the back, away from the drunkards and the gossiping mothers with crying children.

“How about you? How have you been?” Kaworu asks, as soon as they’re both settled.

“Contemplating.” Shinji shrugs.

“Contemplating?”

“Contemplating life.” When Shinji doesn’t elaborate, Kaworu stays silent. Shinji tries to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know. Just what I want to do with life and what I have done with it so far. Aaand the more I think about it, the more I feel like I’ve been wasting time for years. So you know. Contemplating.”

Kaworu reaches out a hand and they interlock fingers.

“Oh and I also started to watch ‘classic’ films. So far I’ve watched…” Shinji raises his free hand and begins counting. “Heathers, the original version, Carrie, the 2000 version because the original wasn’t available on Netflix, American Pscyho, Girl, Interrupted, Good Will Hunting… Uh, I think there’s more but I can think of any more.” 

“So you finally took it upon yourself to culturise. But what about my book recommendations? When will you get to those?” Kaworu asks, a childish accusatory tone in his voice and a pout on his lips. Shinji pokes at his arm.

“As soon as you start to watch Digimon,” he replies. “No, but really. I’ll get there in my procrastination, eventually. It’s just easier to mindlessly stare at a screen, especially when I can skip through the second-hand embarrassments with a click and drag. God I hate second-hand embarrassment scenes.”

“An absolutely ineffective form of humour,” Kaworu agrees. “Probably one of the main reasons I struggle with watching comedy.”

Shinji has to agree with that.

 

Kaworu opens the door to his flat and calls out.

“Nish! Shinji’s here!”

Shinji hears running footsteps, and a girl pops out from doorway on the side of the hallway. She has a bright smile, and her face exudes friendliness. Shinji gives her a smile and wave.

“This is Nish, she’s from Finland.”

“Originally from India, but I consider myself Finnish,” she answers a question he hasn’t asked, but one enough people before him have, and extends her hand. Shinji nods dumbly at her answer, and shakes her hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Shinji,” he introduces himself and feels a little stupid, because she already knows his name, clearly. Nish doesn’t seem to mind.

“Get yourself situated, I’m just gonna get my laptop for the recipe.” She weaves through the narrow corridor and what apparently is her room. As Shinji puts his coat on a rack, Nish yells from her room. “You can put on some music if you like!”

“Any requests?” Kaworu asks, holding his phone and setting up the speaker to connect. 

“Uh…” Shinji pauses. “Hanoi Rocks?”

He hopes it’s something neutral enough for his company. He’s been meaning to listen to them more since he remembered his mother playing an album of theirs to him in the car when he was a kid. He doesn’t remember any song names nor the name of the album, not even the cover, but he hopes to come across it eventually. 

Kaworu taps the name on the screen and the stereo blasts a strong drum beat. Strong enough for Shinji jump, and Kaworu scrambles to adjust the volume. Shinji thinks he hears Kaworu chastising Nish, but he can’t be sure.

Nish returns with her laptop in her hands. She stops in the doorway and frowns.

“Wait… This sounds familiar. Who is this?”

“Hanoi Rocks, request a la Shinji,” answers Kaworu as he sets his phone on the table and opens a cupboard to take out a bowl.

“Ooh! No wonder I recognised it,” she laughs. “They’re Finnish!”

“My mum used to listen to them when I was young,” Shinji says, a little shy. “They were really popular in Japan when she was young.”

“A-ha! Another piece of evidence for the Finland-Japan-wormhole!” Nish points an enthusiastic finger at Shinji.

“Wormhole?”

“Oh now you got her started,” Kaworu sighs.

Nish sets her laptop on the table and opens it for Kaworu to peer at the recipe, only to give up when he realises the language is all wrong. Nish completely ignores him and instead turns toward Shinji.

“I have this theory that Finland and like somewhere close to Japan there is a wormhole that connects them. It’s really old and probably lost to time, but some similarities in the cultures and languages can still be seen, which explains why Finnish and Japanese people share similar values and behaviours, and quite a considerable amount of words, although they do mean different things.”

Shinji listens to her animated explanation, nodding dumbly and sometimes glancing at Kaworu who goes on a facial expression journey. He starts with a ‘are you serious?’ look aimed at the back of Nish’s head, then morphing to a incredulous stare at the ceiling, and an incredulous stare at the corner of the kitchen, until finally a blank stare off into the distance somewhere past both Nish and Shinji. He’s nodding, or maybe rocking his head back and forward in a vague attempt to comfort himself. 

“-so there’s a lots of coincidences, but can you  _ really _ call them coincidences with how many of them there are? And the effect can even be seen in Korea, where they basically share a name that is also a name in Finland and an old word for summer. You really have to ask yourself at that point, is it  _ that _ far-fetched to have some sort of spatial jump that connects both of the countries?” Nish asks, hands held in front of her with palms up like she’s expecting… something out of Shinji.

“I… guess?” he says, voice unsure. It satisfies Nish enough, and whens she turns back to her laptop, Shinji’s shoulders sag. Kaworu sends him an apologetic and pitying smile. Shinji mouths ‘Wow’ at him, and Kaworu nods.

“Anyways! We need us some milk at hand-temperature and mix in the yeast. The milk cannot be too hot! Otherwise it will kill the yeast! Please! I have had people kill so much yeast prematurely, you would not believe!” Nish pleads, voice strangled with emotion. Shinji nods gravely, feeling her pain.

“I will not let it die, not on my watch.”

 

“If you want to have some alone time, just say the word.”

“The word?” Kaworu asks. Him and Nish are sitting at the kitchen table, picking at the piping hot cinnamon buns and dipping the pieces into cold milk. They taste of home and love.  Nish, immediately after hearing Kaworu's reply, stands up, her plate and glass of milk in her hands, and grins.

“Don’t get too raunchy now,” she says and passes Shinji, who is coming back from the bathroom, in the hallway. “Or if you do, use protection!”

Shinji turns back towards her, but she just closes her bedroom door and leaves him staring at it.

“Wuh-... Why did she say that? Do I even want to know?” Shinji asks Kaworu, absolutely mortified.

Kaworu shakes his head, looking a lot like a parent, unimpressed by the antics of their child.

“She’s trying to get to you. Get into your head.”

Shinji sits back in his chair next to Kaworu. The only song Shinji recognises by name, Cheyenne, is playing from the stereo. He mouths along to the lyrics quietly, as he puts pieces of the bun into his mouth. Kaworu leans his head on his hand, watching Shinji. If it was anyone else, Shinji would feel creeped out or at least awkward. But Kaworu has a small smile that keeps any embarrassment Shinji might’ve had far away as he sways to the rhythm.

Shinji thoughtfully tears the bun into even smaller pieces.

“She’s nice.”

“That she is,” Kaworu agrees.

“And…” Shinji pauses and frowns. He doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Zen?” Kaworu offers.

“Yeah! She is! How does she do that?” Shinji asks, really hoping to learn how to have such a positive aura.

“According to her it’s natural. Apparently she’s a mess inside but everyone feels calm near her.” Kaworu smiles, but it disappears soon. It’s replaced by a calculatedly thoughtful and calm look.

“Shinji-kun, what are we?”

“Huh?” Shinji turns toward him with eyes wide.

“How would you… define our relationship?”

“Oh geez, I’ve never had anyone ask that me before,” Shinji panics. He turns back to his plate with a deep frown. It takes a good few seconds of silence before he comes up with the words. “I decided at the beginning of third year not to try dating, because I knew I would be busy, with my dissertation and then master’s… Kinda decided that it was better not to get involved with anyone, especially if I might not stay in the country for a very long time.”

Shinji stops to think. Kaworu is silent. When Shinji doesn’t continue for a while, Kaworu begins to talk.

“I understand your reasons. Your rejection, although it hurts, is something I do understand.” His voice sounds as measured as his words.

Shinji bites his lip. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his head is full of so many thoughts and feelings.

“Wait, Kaworu-kun. Even though I decided that, I… I didn’t think I would find someone like you. And I don’t want to keep away from you.” 

Kaworu is much closer than Shinji had realised. He feels faint. His voice is barely a whisper.

“I don’t know, I feel a little selfish, but… Would… would you like to still try dating?” he asks, voice cracking at the last word. Kaworu takes Shinji’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his fingers.

“If you’ll have me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not dead!! not yet!!   
> i just spent 2 weeks in cabin fever. and going loopity loop from loneliness  
> but my re-exams are coming up and that means hell yea procrastination babey!! more fic writing!!  
> almso i strugle with fricking conversations and like i had no plan so i got kinda stuck with this whole things with kawoshin so yea, but now i can go back to the regularly scheduled psych appointments and unleash some more Trauma before going back to all that.. relationship stuff.
> 
> hmu on tumlr at iljanne or prettywordsforprettybirds


	12. Time's Up!

“I’m absolute shit at keeping in contact with people,” Shinji starts his rant. He’s sitting across from his therapist, glaring down at the steaming teacup, like the tea itself had personally done him wrong. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m wired in a way that I can only concentrate or invest emotionally into only a few relationships at a time. So some suffer while others flourish. That inevitably leads to some friendships dying.”

He thinks about Toji and Kensuke. He hasn’t thought of them in such a long while, but now they haunt him. The three of them had had so much fun and had gotten along so well. But now they were in different cities, and making contact was suddenly an overwhelming task. He thought about his online friends, one in particular.

“According to some, I’ve become boring. It’s…” he stops. It’s eaten away at him ever since she made that remark, despite it having been months ago. “It’s not fair. She has often stopped replying to me because she needed time to herself and her studies. Now I need it. If I do the same thing, it’s something bad. I suffered when she wasn’t there, because she’s my main confidante, but I’ve never complained. I didn’t talk to her for maybe two weeks and… I’ve become boring? How am I boring? I’m doing research that is important to the well-being of students all over, researching the effects of current social movements, developing my artistic skills, and-”

He stops, panting. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He still hasn’t even talked about the things that came _after_ that.

“Do you often have trouble expressing your feelings and thoughts to others?” his therapist takes over from where he left.

“No… not really?” He frowns.

“What about when someone does something that bothers you? What do you usually do?” his therapist keeps prodding.

“Ugh… I stay silent about it.”

“You expect others to stay silent because you stay silent?”

“Yes. As common courtesy.” Shinji already feels stupid.

“Why don’t you tell people when they do something that bothers you?”

“Because… Because, I know how it feels. It makes them feel shitty. It makes them resent the other person. I don’t want to be resented.”

“So when people have told you something you’ve done has bothered them… you’ve resented them?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Depends,” Shinji says. “Sometimes for a week. Some things I still remember. They’ve become part of the cringe compilation in my head that goes off at the most inopportune moments. After I’ve gone through the list of the times I completely fucked up - excuse my language - I viciously thank the people who have been involved and pointed it out.”

“You fear they will resent you for years to come, because there are some people you resent?” his therapist confirms.

“Yes.”

“Since you’re basing your expectations of others’ reactions on your own experiences, it might help to work with these resentment issues. Besides mindfulness and yoga, there’s also practicing constructive critique with people you trust and feel safe with. This approach might help you also practice giving constructive critique and make you less anxious when giving it.”

The moment he hears this, Shinji has already decided that the only person he could do this with is Mari. But Mari left to go home for the holidays, and won’t be back for another month or two. Shinji sighs.

“I’ll try to do that, but the only person isn’t here at the moment.”

“It can be online too,” his therapist reminds him. Shinji sips his cooled-down tea.

“It could be yeah, but I’m going to see her in a month.”

“That’s quite a long time,” his therapist worries. “Are you sure you will be fine? There’s no one else you could start up with?”

Shinji shakes his head.

“If I start with Asuka, I fear I’ll start doing it for real and rip her to pieces. And she’s not exactly… up for criticism anyway. No matter how good-natured. I couldn’t do that to Kaworu, not at this stage of… our relationship,” Shinji fights a blush as he says the words. “And I would ask one of my long time online friends _if_ she hadn’t decided to declare my long-term goal ‘cringe’ along with… other stuff.”

“You had a falling out?” she asks, shifting in her seat. “Do you want to talk about that?”

Shinji makes a vague gesture that he hopes somehow conveys a combination of a ‘maybe’ shrug and ‘kinda yeah’ nod, with a ‘not exactly’ headshake.

“I mean… I’m still processing it, to be honest, like… I feel like I’ve been trying to forgive her so many things and just hoped that she’ll see that her words affect me and not in a nice way, you know, the whole resentment thing, but the main reason is… I’m worried it will… make me lose hope.”

Shinji pauses and takes a deep breath, sets his tea on the table. He knows he’s going to get emotional.

“I hate when things get ruined for me. I play a song that I like, then someone I know tells me it’s shit, and from that point on I can’t even listen to the band without remembering that comment.” He bites his tongue as rage bubbles inside him. “I’ve shared one of my life goals with a friend, and she’s known it for a while now. Then she goes and says my goal makes her cringe like it’s some 30-year-old dude with an anime girl avatar trying to argue why racism is needed in Youtube comments. She puts down the effort I’ve made so I can realise it in the future to the level of these things. I don’t know if it’s because she’s struggling to find something to do after her schooling is over… Not that reason makes a difference.”

He bites his thumb, suppressing a scream.

“I’ve become so sensitive to trying to not be an asshole I asked her if she’s okay. She told me she’s had a good day, so there’s no immediate reason. God, I can’t even properly stand up for myself, rather calling the comment rude and unnecessarily mean.”

Seconds tick by.

“I’m scared that that comment will have ruined that life goal. You know, it’s one of the things that keeps me alive at bad times. That at some point I will get what I want, and I’ll be happy. But if I can’t even think about that without remembering that comment, it will cease being support and becomes another blade pointed toward me. As if I don’t have enough of those.”

Shinji buries his head in his hands.

“Is it stupid? I’m second guessing myself now. There’s been plenty of people doing what I want to do with even less preparation. But times change and what was enough 2 years ago may not be enough now. Not to mention how much it will have changed by the time I’m ready to realise my goal. Fuck.”

He breathes deeply for a few moments, tries not to let the anger wash over him.

“Her half-assed apology and then asking if she’s even wrong… I know it’s not possible to have perfect friends. But… where is the line where you say enough is enough?”

He’s heard a lot of talk about where one’s dams break and everything flows out.

“And, you know, individually all these things are fine. I can handle having one less friend, I can handle criticism of my goals, even bad crit, I can handle a bad grade, I can even handle my grandpa getting hospitalised and then stuck in a care home. But together? No. God, I have this constant dread of seeing Asuka, or someone else from my course, because it inevitably means discussing grades and then I have to suffer another round of ‘boohoo I got a 68, that’s so bad’ while trying to stop myself from bursting into tears because my 45 really is closing the door of a master’s degree in the future.”

He feels cold. Once in a while, he even shivers.

“One of my dad’s co-workers, who is basically an aunt to me, called me about grandpa Fuyutsuki, talking some cryptic shit about him being on a cruise or something. I thought she meant his sense of his balance has gone haywire, or something. But she kept going ‘oh you know, he’s kind of, you know. You knoooow’ and I’m sitting there like no! No I don’t know! No one will fucking tell me and I’m not there so how the fuck am I supposed to know?! I can’t even call grandpa, because I don’t have his number anymore, not that I even know if he still has his phone.”

Shinji wipes angry tears from his eyes.

“And _fuck_ , I can’t even feel comfortable having him in one of the care homes, when there were recent scandals about abuse and mistreatment, _especially_ with the elderly. Dad is probably visiting him every week or so but even then, it’s not possible to know if someone is doing something when no one is looking.”

“I just feel so bad right now. Physically. I’m constantly trying to distract myself but failing, constantly trying to stop myself from crying. Constantly worried someone is going to ask or say the wrong thing and then they have to deal with me losing _all_ of my shit.”

He hasn’t even noticed when he started rocking in the chair. It’s a comfort, being in the move but also incredibly embarrassing. If it were any other human being than his therapist, he would’ve- he would’ve-

What could he have even done in that situation?

Shinji shakes his head, trying to get the unhelpful thoughts out of his head, but it’s really not helping.

The time runs out before he’s stopped crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deep dive into issues before we do a deep dive into L o n e l i n e s s


	13. A Fortnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll proooobably be doing some editing cus i kiiind of fucked up in regards my plans for this fic, but nothing major, just adding some stuff to be more realistic for when it comes to the future. I'll let ya'll know what was changed and how.   
> But for now, have a story-version of a two week period I experienced a while back when I basically went a little insane from loneliness. i did not have fun nor will Shinji-boy.

Asuka leaves on Monday. 

Shinji is happy to have some space to himself, and as usual he has ambitious plans. In a little over two weeks he will turn his life around! His therapist is on holidays too, and there’s still two months left before the re-exams begin, he really has all the time in the world to do it. He will start eating healthy. He’ll wake early and go early to sleep. He’ll go out daily, maybe begin a proper exercise routine. And most important, he will do all his re-exam notes. He only has two exams, about 14 topics in total. It’s a topic per day, and he’s assigned the topics already in his calendar. In addition, he will clean the whole apartment, starting with the mess Asuka has left in her wake. He’ll finally scrub clean the bathroom from its mold and discolourations, throw out all the cleaning cloths with no purpose, defrost the fridge and the freezer compartment that has  _ bent _ from years of ice having gathered between the compartment and the top of the fridge. He’ll sort his clothes from winter to summer and throw out any that he hasn’t used in a year. He’ll do laundry, rearrange his room, meet with his StAR supervisor, do dissertation research, look for a job, empty the fridge from Asuka’s leftover foods, find cheap tickets home, shift through ten thousand pictures he has gathered in the last two years, transfer his 300 videos to  _ somewhere _ , get in touch with Toji and Kensuke,  **get his shit together.**

His first day is spent cleaning the kitchen. At the end of scrubbing the oven and counters clean, hacking away at the ice for eight hours, drying up the pools forming on the floor and throwing out half the food in the fridge, that Asuka has left to rot while she’s away, he’s too tired to even open his laptop. If nothing else, he falls asleep easily before the clock hits ten.

 

On his second day, he is too tired and sore to move. He receives an email from his StAR supervisor.

_ Hiya _

_ How are you getting on? What can I tell Scott? _

Below is the email she has received from another teacher asking her how he was getting along with his project.

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he laugh? Should he cry?

He does neither. He does  _ nothing _ all day.

A scatterbrained scientist is a lot less endearing when one is personally acquainted with one.

 

The third day he picks himself up again and scrubs the bathroom clean. He uses an old toothbrush, a dish brush, a sponge, and so many leftover chemicals he’s sure the fumes he’s breathing in are causing some damage to his lungs and brain.

 

He keeps the ball rolling on the fourth day as he goes through his clothes. He’s filled an IKEA bag halfway with clothes when his phone rings. He answers the call and sets the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can keep folding clothes into the bag: 

“Hi, dad.”

“Have you considered when you will be coming home?”

“Um, I still have one exam in late June,” Shinji says. He has no idea why lies about that. It’s just instinct at this point. His father hums and doesn’t question it further, which almost surprises him. He had prepared to defend his choice to retake an exam violently and with many cross-references to his classmates. But lately, he’s been really off in his judgements. Was it that his father was changing? Or has Shinji changed to expect the worst from his father every single time?

Both choices are scary.

“What have you been up to?” his father asks. Shinji folds another shirt into the IKEA bag.

“Cleaning,” he answers truthfully. 

“It seems like you’re always cleaning, when I call you.” Shinji stops at the shift in his father’s tone. “Are you sure you aren’t just using it as a procrastination method so you don’t have to study or look for jobs?”

The question really isn’t a question. Even if it was a question, Shinji is in such a panic he doesn’t know how to answer.

“No? Yes? I mean I still have to clean, and I can’t help it if you call whenever I’ve been cleaning.” Since you call  _ so _ often, he leaves out. “Look, Asuka just left to go home for two weeks, and I’ve just finished the term so now I finally have the time to do the spring cleaning since  _ she _ won’t- and I’m still studying and looking for jobs!”

Shinji wishes he felt less like he was lying. He’s trying, he really is trying, but it just so hard to concentrate, and searching for jobs does wonders to lower his already low self esteem.

His father makes a noise that sounds clearly like disbelief.

“Okay, then. Have you called any of the places you applied to?” 

Shinji suppresses a groan deep into his guts. 

“No, because I don’t have a phone number,  _ since I gave my physical CV _ .” Not that it’d fucking matter any way, he censors himself. He hides the truth and lies some more. “I’m going to go back there soon and ask. The place downstairs said when I went there that they’re looking for people still, so I think I have a pretty good shot at that. I just have to be there when the owner is there too.”

Easier said than done with the cafe’s opening hours seemingly changing every day of the week to something new, and Shinji never being awake at any of those times.

His father grunts. 

“You shouldn’t be so picky about the placements, you should look from a wider area, including the airport and the nearby cities. You should look for jobs in your field.”

Shinji’s eyes roll back into his skull. 

“I will, but there needs to be transportation too, and a lot of the times ‘jobs in my field’ means it’s some place with three hour commute despite it being less than an hour away by car. And I don’t want to pay for the train ticket.”

“You don’t have to worry about the money, you need to just gain experience in the field.”

Shinji really doesn’t know how to explain his feelings to his father. He just knows he doesn’t want to hundreds a month just to get to places. Maybe it’s not wanting to rely on his father, be independent. Maybe it’s just him being a scrooge. No matter the reason, he doesn’t think he can make his middle-aged, upper middle class, highly employable father see reason. His sigh is defeated, and by some small mercy his father let’s the topic go. Or almost.

“Or you can just come home and look for a job here.”

Sometimes, Shinji gets this feeling. This desire. It’s weird and not like him at all, but sometimes, he wants to just punch the lights out of his old man.

“It’s easier to get a job here than there,” he mutters the months old line. His father finally lets the topic go, and they exchange news about their lives outside of school and work. Which is very little. His father makes an indication that he’s ready to end the call, but before he can say goodbye, Shinji remembers an important piece of recent news.

“Oh, dad? How’s grandpa?” he asks, fearing the answer a little. His father makes a slightly surprised sound, like he really had not expected Shinji to bring the topic up, but he almost sounds glad that he did.

“He’s doing fine, they finally got his medications adjusted. And he made a new friend at the care home.”

Shinji’s eyebrows rise high.

“What? Really?” In all his years, Shinji has never seen or heard his grandfather to have made a new friend, rather treating any and all strangers with cordial suspicion. Having moved away from the suburbia where he had lived most of his elderly life, leaving the few friends he had had, had been tough on him, even more so when his sister and some old friends had finally passed away. To Shinji, this wasn’t just good news, this was nearly legendary.

“They apparently talk for hours, according to the nurses, and he’s been making rounds getting to know the other residents as well. He’s rarely in his room these days.”

“That’s… really good,” Shinji says, feeling like his words are a little lame. For grandpa Fuyutsuki to not be cooped up in his room alone, like he had been for as many years as Shinji could remember, was absolutely fantastic. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels a little like crying.

“Yeah. Let me know when your exams are over so I can look at flights for you,” his father says.

“Mmhmm.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, dad.”

 

On the fourth day, Shinji finally answers the supervisor’s email by reminding her that the project got cancelled. To his surprise, she answers the same day, suggesting a meeting on the 20th after her holidays. Shinji has no idea when her holidays are and which month’s 20th she means. He sends her another message asking for a clarification.

 

It takes until the fifth day for Shinji to open the exam notes document. He stares at the pages, scrolling through them with ever-growing overwhelm. In the end, he goes grocery shopping and spends the rest of the day cooking.

 

The sixth day he spends rearranging furniture and emailing the housing agency to figure out what to do with the four broken and then promptly duct taped chairs à la previous tenant. They don't answer.

 

On the seventh day, a message comes in from Hikari, who asks Shinji if he’s doing something important with his life or if he could go check out some flats for her at some point. Shinji doesn’t really mind, since he isn’t doing  _ anything _ important with his life. 

 

The eighth day, Shinji realises he’s wasted a whole week. He spends most of the day in bed, hating himself.

 

He wakes up late on the ninth day, and decides to try working at the university library. By the time he makes it there, it’s 16.52. Shinji checks the summertime opening hours for the library, and the closing time stares right back at him. He flips off the 17.00, and goes to the Nerd-wing, where some middle-aged men are talking loudly. He tries to concentrate on his work, but he keeps zoning out, getting distracted by the loud yells, or what he considers yells. It takes him half an hour to give up and go back home.

 

Shinji feels… bad. He’s noticed carpal tunnel pain having flared up on his right hand again from using his phone and laptop so much, but on day 10 that is joined by something different. He isn’t quite sure what it is, but he suspects it’s cabin fever, so he takes a long walk at a park a mile away from his house. The swans glide in the pond water, and their silhouettes against the sunset are glorious. Shinji gets pictures he’s quite proud of, and he even gets a video of one trying to nibble on his shoe. The weather is getting warmer, and he can barely wait for summer. He wishes he could just lay in the sun during the day, reading a book or listening to a podcast, shielded from the wind. Or go to the beach at night and light up a bonfire, grilling food over the embers while staring at the black sea. He wishes he was anywhere except here.

 

On the eleventh day he messages the agency and his supervisor again, since neither have replied. He even manages to edit a tiny bit of his exam notes, but gives up soon enough. The rest of the day is spent with domestic chores again. He does get a reply from his supervisor, though.

_ I probably meant last month! I’m in tomorrow if you’d like to come for a chat _

Shinji sets an alarm at 10 in the morning, hoping it’s early enough for him to get his ass in gear but late enough so he will actually wake up. What he should’ve taken into account is that he’s been waking up past 14, and he of course, in his sleep-deprived state at 10 next morning, says ‘fuck it’. And so the twelfth day is spent sleeping in, and then him sending an apologetic email for not being able to come. He hopes she’s going to be on campus sometime next week if not this one.

The email he gets back a few hours later tells him he has another chance of catching her on Monday. He swears to himself that if he doesn’t go, he will truly punish himself in one form or another.

 

Fourteen days. That’s how long it has been since he’s talked to a person face to face. 

He’s tried his best to feel not so cooped up, but since the uni library closes at five, it’s hard to think of another place he could stay at studying without having to pay for it. He wants to be outside, but there are only so many times he can go to the store, and the park he likes is far away, at least by his standards, that by the time he would reach it, it’d already be dark. He’s scared if he goes on another moonlight walk, he’ll get lost in the dark once again, like he did earlier in these two weeks. It had been an experience enough for him, and he didn’t need a repeat.

And the weather. 

Whenever he wakes later than usual, it is a wonderful, warm, sunny day. When he wakes early and plans to go out, it rains. He should be used to it by now, but in the end, it only frustrates him more. 

Shinji tries to feel less lonely by talking to people online.  The call Asuka promised to give him never comes. Not that he goes out of his way to reach out to her either. He doesn’t even reach out to Mari or Kaworu, other than exchanging messages online.

The fourteenth is another depressing night filled with rain and some asshole revving his engine outside his window. He sits in the kitchen, alone, staring at the screen. He’s been exchanging a few messages in a group chat, but not really partaking in the conversation. Slowly, his focus drifts off into the distance, and his guts convulse. 

“Ohh… Oh fuck.”

With shaking fingers, he reopens the groupchat.

Shinj:

_ I feel super restless _

_ And idk if its the social isolation (14 days and counting) or what _

Geroro:

_ oh no D: _

Yuuska:

_ I feel  _

_ something _

Geroro:

_ what _

_ are you feeling _

Shinj:

_ those are emotions yuuska _

_ they're made up of chemicals in ur brain _

_ and electric signals _

_ DO U WANT ME TO EXPLAIN SOME PSYCHOPHARMACOLOGY _

_ I CAN DO IT _

_ SINCE ITS NOT AN EXAM _

_ and everything comes out so easily :'))))) _

Geroro:

_ TELL US OF PSYCHOPHARMACOLOGY _

Shinji is overcome with love and appreciation for his friends. He pours half a year’s notes in his own words into the group chat, going off on tangents and genuinely enjoying the reactions he gets with his tidbits of information. 

Shinj:

_ lack of dopamine can cause parkinsons _

_ lack of serotonin causeeeess _

_ drum rol _

_ depression!!! _

_ yaaaay _

Geroro:

_ yaaaaaaaayyyy _

He bursts into laughter.

Shinj:

_ but if u hav too many u can get schizophrenic symptoms _

_ it was thought that serotonin causes schizo thigns _

_ but now they're like naaah _

_ "we think it's the glutamate" _

_ glutamate ain't such a mate after all _

_ they think this cus PCP or angel dust causes similar symptoms as schizophrenia _

Geroro:

_ think ive heard about them _

_ whats that about serotonin syndrome btw _

_ i know other drugs than SSRI can trigger it _

_ like meth _

_ but why _

_ whats up with that _

Mentally, Shinji cracks his knuckles and goes on a long tangent about drugs and their functions on a biochemical level in the brain. The hours tick on, and before long, the sun begins to rise. 

Shinj:

_ thank u for letting me ramble about things ;w; _

Geroro:

_ no need to thank!!!!! we want you to be happy _

Oh, that hits Shinji really hard. Like… Sadly hard. He ignores the prickling in his eyes and clench of his heart as he types:

Shinj:

_ das gay _

Geroro:

_ arent we all gay _

Shinji snorts and bids his friends good night. It’s nearly seven in the morning when he falls asleep, the fog having lifted from his mind for a while. But only for a while.

 

On Monday, he meets his supervisor as promised in her cramped little university campus office.

“Sorry about the mess, honey. Sit, sit,” she urges him, and he does. She fixes him a motherly look. “What happened?”

Shinji goes unpleasantly numb at the question. What happened? Really?

“You should’ve been more proactive!” She doesn’t even really let him answer before she begins her version of what happened. Shinji sits silently, letting her send her pitying but also disappointed looks toward him. “The idea of the student research is that it’s done by the students, I can’t hold your hand on this! You should’ve sent the application months ago! Now it’s too late to do anything.”

Shinji stares at her, kind of… not there. He clears his throat.

“I guess, I… just got so busy with everything.” And didn’t have the time or energy to resend signature requests to her five times a week. Or how about we start with the name. It’s student  _ assisted _ research, where he is the  _ assistant _ , the idea is he  _ assists, _ literally there to have his  _ hand held _ because he  _ doesn’t _ know what he’s doing since he’s  _ never _ done it before. But okay.

“And then there were those questions!” 

That you approved, Shinji thinks.

“You really should’ve made the steps more clear, they need you to be really clear about it!” Which you didn’t tell me and didn’t even give me a template on, or an example, Shinji thinks.

“I mean, I don’t understand why they approved my dissertation topic, but told me my qualifications for this one were questionable…” Shinji interjects.

“Have you done your ethics application for your dissertation?”

“I mean the dissertation proposal.”

“Oh, honey, that’s completely different.”

“No, but they still thought that I could approach the topic with my current qualifications and-”

“You’ll be doing the ethics in the autumn, that’s a whole other thing,” she cuts him off. Shinji closes his mouth, still not having any idea how any of this even worked. If the board had thought he was qualified in four months without any additional training, then why wasn’t he qualified now?

“They’re going to be sending the ethics application to new group every time and each group wants you to clarify on different things. I got rejected for my project five times so far, since the improvements I made are not seen by the group that requested them.”

Didn’t ask, but okay, Shinji thinks. He lets his supervisor keep talking, and with a weird fascination actually notices how she cuts herself off and oftentimes fails to finish her own sentences. Suddenly, he’s so thankful he doesn’t have to suffer through this with his dissertation.

“I can still do a literature review or even an unofficial survey if you want results,” he offers. Although he has a pretty good idea why people aren’t exactly thrilled to engage with her sexual violence awareness campaign, especially when it came to students working  _ on _ the campaign. Hell, half the report could be filled with things he personally had an issue with. Starting with inconsistency. 

“That’d be so nice of you, honeybee,” she says. “I have project coming up that a few of the older students are taking part in and you could as well. But for now I need you to go, so I can finish this application.”

“Well.. let me know if I can help,” he says without much enthusiasm, and lets himself be waved off and out of the office. 

 

On the night of the 16th, Shinji is overcome with the need to be creative. 

“Where the hell have the- fucking yes.” He finds the canvases in a box underneath second-hand board games, grabbing his shitty acrylic paints and all the brushes they’ve collected into a tall glass. Paint splatters onto the chairs, the carpet, the table. He starts the backgrounds of three paintings and finishes none of them.

 

Shinji has an odd burst of energy on the seventeenth day, and as if riding on the fumes of last night’s creativity. He takes the canvases he had painted backgrounds on and covers them in wrapping paper. He finds the lace and the glue he has bought for decorative purposes and begins gluing the lace onto the wrapping paper to give it a little something extra.

He’s doing all this to create backgrounds for Asuka’s dolls. Shinji hasn’t thought about the dolls for months. It had been the beginning of the year when Asuka had asked him to photograph the dolls so she could sell them in her very own online shop, creating a source of income where she didn’t have to stand around in a sports shop serving customers who smelled of weed, alcohol or both.

Shinji feels guilty for not having done anything for months, despite promising to help her. But he’s finally doing something. 

The sunlight hits at an awkward angle, there’s nothing that could keep the background canvas properly propped up, and Shinji has to lie on his stomach on the dirty floor to get a proper angle. The dolls keep falling on their faces with Shinji only having two hands, and both holding the camera. He has no light-reflectors to distribute the light on the doll evenly, leaving texture and awkward bumps from manufacturing mistakes obvious in the pictures. 

After an hour, Shinji has two pictures. But they’re good pictures.

 

Shinji trudges on with his life, somehow, until on the 18th day he hears someone struggling to open the door, while he’s oh so conveniently trying to pee. There really is terror like no other than live in a infamous stabbing town in a foreign country and someone trying to get into your flat while you’re in the bathroom, and Shinji wishes he hadn’t learned that. 

He goes to open the door, surprised to see Asuka on the other side. She hadn’t said anything about coming back. But then again, maybe Shinji should’ve expected that. She barely greets him when she comes in, hauling her luggage behind her. 

“Aah, I’m so tired!” she yells, shrugging off her jacket and dropping it onto her bed. She turns to Shinji and just kind of looks at him. Shinji looks back.

“Welcome home?” he says. Asuka spreads her arms towards him. He walks into the hug. Human contact feels indescribably good, and he really doesn’t want to let go. But eventually he has to, and Asuka smiles at him.

“Did you miss me?”

“Oddly enough, yes,” Shinji confesses. Peace of mind when it came to household things had had a hard price to pay, and he truly hopes he doesn’t go through whatever he had gone through in the last two and a half weeks again.


	14. Hanging on

The days pass in a haze, unspent, forgotten, regretted. Shinji stares at his notes with ever growing certainty that there is very little else that he could’ve fucked up in making them. Long, incomprehensible paragraphs keep going off on tangents that do not matter. The panic inside reaches the threshold, and he jerks up at night, grabbing his laptop, spending his night deleting  _ pages _ of unnecessary information. He needs to pass. He needs to get a good grade. He needs to get his master’s. Otherwise he’ll…

Die? I guess I would die, he thinks in passing, skimming through the fat of the 60 pages of biology notes. Always dying over everything.

 

Shinji manages to squeeze in a quick session in the midst of his studies. He’s making better progress with his notes than he had expected. He even had the sense to look over the revision slides that went over the theories needed. Y’know. For the  _ exam _ . Instead of just guessing them from the lecture slides. 

He felt smart for a while, but now he’s reeling from panic as he sits across his therapist.

“Y'know, me and my friends always joke about how we are so much smarter than this uni or the other people, and I honestly believed it for a while, but now I’m wondering I’ve just been deluding myself to make me feel better? Or to excuse my own laziness? I mean I spent three weeks doing jack shit even though I was fully aware the exams were coming up again. And I could do something about it. I mean who’s really the smarter person here: the person working hard to score that 50, or the person who fucked around and ended up getting 50? Oh god, I can’t even tell which one I am anymore. I don’t know what my 'hardest try' is.” He provides the quotation marks with his fingers.

His therapist looks like she’s about to say something, but Shinji is already speaking again. Maybe his eyes and mouth aren’t working as well together as they should be. A delayed signal of some sort. 

“You know how everyone thinks before doing an IQ test that they’re above 100? I don’t. Not anymore. I’m in the low 90’s if I’m lucky. Maybe 80’s. 

"I hear my friends talk about getting A’s, moaning when they’re in the B’s. I never get an A. Then they turn to me, asking me again what I got. They’re mad they got 60, saying it’s unfair. And then I look at my 50. Or sometimes even 40. 30 if I’m really unlucky. That means I’m barely passing that class. 

"I wonder if I’m actually gonna make it to graduation. Undergrad doesn’t mean anything anymore. You have to have a master’s. But what if I can’t get into master’s? That means I have to find some other job. Something like cashier at a supermarket. But to get that you have to wade through 250 applications. Five of which you hear back from. One of them asks you to come to an interview, and after two weeks of anxiety, on the morning of it, they call you to say that unfortunately they’ve already picked someone. And so you apply to another 250 job applications online. 

"Until that one place tells you that maybe, maybe, you could work for them for minimum wage. Forty hours a week, no sick leave, no bonuses, a hostile work environment because someone decided to be an ass and steal from the company register which led the higher ups to revoke everyone’s register rights, except for the managers. It makes everyone even more annoyed, employees and customers alike, when you have to get the manager because some guy wants to buy a pair of socks but you can’t operate it ‘cause Ass McFuckface thought he was owed that dirty 20 buck bill.”

His breathing is heavier. Deeper. Like his own body is trying to pre-emptively treat an oncoming panic attack. His therapist has stopped taking notes, watching him with piercing eyes. It’s kind of reassuring, to know that she’s aware. And that she’s ready to take action.

Despite the roaring beat of his heart in his chest, Shinji pushes through. He just… He just needs to get this out.

“You know… I could’ve gotten better grades if I had tried harder in elementary school or middle school. Maybe even high school. But the longer I go on in university, the more I feel like I’ve just… hit the roof in my capabilities. I just don’t understand. I’ve hit the limit in how far I can go.

“I never thought of myself as an academic. I hate doing reports, essays or just reading stuff that holds no emotional value to me. I should’ve become a cook like I wanted after high school. I was actually enjoying myself in the home ec school. I was doing well. Here I just keep fucking up over and over, barely scraping by.”

Shinji bites his lip when the tears start to fall down. What a pathetic mess he is.

“But I don’t wanna give up. I’ve done so much, it feels like a waste if I give up now. But what will I do with shitty grades? I want to help people, but there’s nothing I can do with such a shitty resume. Fuck, I can’t even get employed as a cashier because I lack the necessary experience.”

His shoulder shake, and he tries to stifle a sob. A stupid, fucking millennial sob.

“How am I ever supposed to believe I’m not a waste of space if this keeps on happening?”

He gasps for air.

“Fuck it. She was right all along. I’ve been spoiled by my dad to the extent that I’ve become delusional with how much I can do.”

Shinji grows sick of holding back and just for once allows it all to come out. Because he doesn’t hold back, his tears do not last very long. He pulls out tissues as they come, and as his nose becomes more stuffed with watery snot, he dries out of any feeling. He blows his nose and mutters an apology for being gross. Thank fuck he wasn’t back in Japan or he would’ve had to hold it in or excuse himself and waste time trying to a find a bathroom in this place.

All cleaned up, he sighs.  

“What is it with crying? Everytime I want to let my emotions go and cry it all out, I can’t. And when I don’t want to cry, I nearly immediately break down and start sobbing.” He sighs. “But it feels good though. Despite the headache it always gives me.”

“You up to unpacking all of that? It’s quite a lot, we don’t have to go through it all today.”

Shinji waves a tired hand.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I doubt it will fuck me up that much more than I already have fucked myself up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo yaaah, summer was not as free as i thought and i nearly punched a wall in my parents place with a vacuum out of frustration. we'll come to that eventually. it's very little but?? it's something


	15. Soak In What You Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went thru a whole cycle of 'oh shit i shud write, oh no i havent written in ages n cannot write now, lets just get this over with, oh shit i forgot that writing cud be this good' lads  
> existential crisis at 3.30am lads

“So…”

“So.” Shinji lets his reply hang in the air. He rubs his eyes, which he is sure makes the redness just worse. Not that he cares. He’s hit the bottom, the only way is up.

“We’ve talked about it before a little, and it really seems like to me that you struggle with doing things.”

Shinji makes an agreeable noise. It really is rearing its ugly head now what with all the… independent study.

“It’s not finishing things or even doing them, it’s more… getting started. And keeping focused.  That’s what’s hardest. Not getting distracted by every little thing. Sometimes I really get into the zone, but it doesn’t last longer than a couple of hours. But most often it’s just short burst, few minutes and then I do something else. It’s really bad if I get sucked into the wrong thing. The only thing that can snap me out is another person or…” He gestures around his midsection. “This cold, hard ball of anxiety, that only appears when someone other than myself expects something from me.”

Shinji stops his descriptions, frowning. 

“I’m sick of having no discipline. No internal motivation.”

“Discipline… is a tricky subject. To develop it, some believe, you need discipline. Some believe its instilled at birth or early childhood. Some say it depends on the culture one grows up in.”

“Then I should be the face of discipline,” Shinji snorts. “Let’s hope it’s the first one, ‘cus it sure wasn’t my dad that failed his job, and I don’t think it was genes either.”

His therapist hums a little. “It might not even be discipline so much either. Personally I believe discipline is just well embedded parts of a routine. Your issue might be a little different. Heard of executive dysfunction?”

Shinji makes a face. “Isn’t that more like… ADHD? I’ve never been hyperactive, and I’ve managed to keep myself together most of my life…”

“Mmhmm, but executive dysfunction isn’t just related to ADHD. It also covers ADD, Alzheimer’s, autism…  _ depression _ ,” she looks at him pointedly, and Shinji averts his eyes from anywhere near her direction. “What I’m interested in, before we get into it, why haven’t you raised any of these issues before, with me or your previous therapists?”

He shrugs. 

“I don’t know. I mean, when I pre-emptively kicked myself out of my first high school, I kind of… just chalked it up to me being too stupid to survive in the competitive environment. Like sure, I was sleeping only two hours a night and didn’t eat lunch, but… in the end it was all my own fault, you know? I mean I only got in with 0.05 points more than the last person to get in. I… liked to think I was sucking in the intellect by hanging out with the smartest kids in class, but I guess osmosis really doesn’t work that way. Fuck, now that I think about it, that’s how I’ve been operating in secondary  _ and _ uni. Fucking, fuck, no wonder I get such shitty grades when I’m looking at everyone else and not myself.”

He barely registers her notetaking amidst his contemplation. 

“What did I even expect, like really? I’m expecting to get smarter by proximity? And when that doesn’t happen, I feel bad for myself and cry over how my grades are shitty? When I studied half the amount that everyone else studied?”

“Before you spiral any further, Shinji, let’s take a moment and acknowledge what you’ve discovered. You may have been expecting some other entity to do the work for you, but you’ve realised it now. You haven’t finished your studies. There is still time to make an improvement.”

Shinji feels a trembling in his chest. It’s a familiar feeling now. It seems to always happen when he really… shakes his own core. 

“I can… fix this.”

“You can fix this,” she affirms. “It’s going to be hard, breaking out of this habit, but we will work together on it.”

Shinji nods, staring off a little to the left of her, somewhere beyond the bookcase leaning against the wall.

His therapist glances above him, checking the time from the clock behind his head. 

“And that’s the time. I kind of didn’t expect us to uncover this many secrets of your soul today, but I have my notes so we can refer back to them next time, if you don’t remember what we talked about. I’m going to look into more executive dysfunction management techniques. I guess it’s not going to make it for your exams. I’m really sorry about that.” His therapist looks sad, and Shinji immediately shakes his head.

“No, please, it’s fine. You aren’t a miracle worker. I’ll probably be fine, what with the re-exams being so close now and the pressure being so high. So really, it’s fine. Thank you.”

His therapist gives him a half-smile. 

“Good luck, Shinji. Make me proud.”

Shinji grabs his bag and stands up. 

“Sure thing, mum,” he quips over his shoulder as he steps out of the door. He’s glad he has to walk a considerable distance to get home. The adrenaline left over from the emotional rollercoaster drifting in his body will maybe concentrate on some other target than the pit of his stomach that hosts his anxiety.

 

During the last two weeks before the re-examination, every morning, when Shinji wakes up, he checks his phone. Mostly to know what time it is - in case he can sleep a little more (or a lot more) - and to see the notifications that have built up over the night. There’s YouTube videos, Tweets, Facebook notifications, emails… Most of them spam.

When it’s just four days left to the exams, there’s the usual notifications. He swipes them away, one by one, nearly done with all of them. Then he notices it. There’s one email. Words slip out in a whisper before Shinji has the time to realise.

“Oh shit.”

This was not the way he wanted to start his morning. Not ever, but especially not  _ now _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am goin to sleep now lads  
> i'm feelin v much like writing more rn, at 4am, but this ol' goof just started 4th year at uni and... people expect things of me now? after 3 years of nothing? so like i'll try to write, n things will def clear up after the dissertation deadline in uhhh middle of march, 2019, and also spring is just... insane for them creative juices for some reason. idk. i just become absolutely PUMPED  
> but ya, no matter how long it takes, i will be updatin. i have... like 20 pages of N o t e s, not written out stuff, just stuff i need to write about. and life keeps bringing me lemons. or i'm stealing them from other people. who cares. i have lemons. delishus


End file.
